


In slow motion

by flonkertons



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 70,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23844160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flonkertons/pseuds/flonkertons
Summary: "He doesn'tlookthat bad.""That's how he fools you," she said, glaring at her tray, "but he's the devil incarnate. Trust me. Worse than Dax Shephard.""Dax Shephard kills puppies, Clarke!""Exactly." Her voice darkened. "Worse."On the first day of junior year, Clarke meets Bellamy Blake. It goes extraordinarily well.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 106
Kudos: 328





	1. PART ONE.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thank yous to a number of people: one_good_movie_kiss for always reading scenes when I'm freaking out about them and for always being so supportive for all of my writing adventures, Kenzie for kicking my butt into gear and letting me write alongside her daily word counts which is LITERALLY the only reason this got finished this past month since I had basically abandoned it before March, and Jen & Ash for tossing around titles with me even though I didn't go with any of them in the end...
> 
> anyways! I hope you like this. It's ridiculously long but I have it all written and will just be posting it in chapters!

**I.**

**(FIRST IMPRESSIONS.)**

On the first day of school, Clarke was called into the principal's office.

"What did you _do_?" Harper asked, bewildered, as Clarke got up slowly from her desk and picked up her bag.

"Nothing!" She said, but her mind was already running through possible answers. She didn't get _called into the principal's office._ She was Clarke Curtis Griffin, straight-A student, secretary of the art club, sophomore class rep and (soon, hopefully) junior class rep, and she rarely—never—got in trouble. She liked to save her rebellion for her mother. 

Her eyes darted over to Finn, panicked. Maybe someone had seen them making out that morning in the parking lot, _even_ _if_ they were pretty well hidden, _even though_ it had been early enough that there weren't even people around, except what if someone _had_ seen and reported them for PDA, but then why wasn't Finn getting called in too, but what if—

"Clarke," Mrs. Jensen repeated impatiently. She nodded nervously and cast a desperate look over at Harper, hopefully conveying _send help slash remember me fondly._

_You'll be fine,_ Harper said back, but she was always saying these things even when things _weren't_ fine, so it wasn't much of a comfort. In any case, Clarke pulled her bag higher up on her shoulder and made for the office, trying to ignore the thumping of her heart and the heavy plodding of her shoes as she trudged down the hall. 

"I'm, um, here to see Principal Jaha?" The receptionist looked up, giving her a half-glance, before nodding towards the half open door. Clarke took her as her cue to walk in.

"Ah, Clarke Griffin," Principal Thelonius Jaha said, standing up to greet her. "Come in! Sit! Sit! How has the school year treating you?"

She wanted to say that it had only been three days, so there was no way she could deliberate on that. "Good," she said, still nervous, but sitting down in the chair as instructed. He was friends with her mother; surely he couldn't put her in detention _forever._ It would just be so embarrassing to have to deal with the fallout, but she’d suffered through worse with her mom.

"Wonderful!" He clapped his hands together. Jaha was the kind of person who took pep rallies seriously. "That's what I like to hear. I knew going into this year that it would be a good one. I can tell these things, you know."

She couldn't sit here and listen to him talk about the school year anymore. "Sorry, Mr. Jaha, I just don't understand why I'm here, because if it's—"

"Ah, right," he said, as if he hadn't distracted himself, "please meet our new student! Bellamy Blake. He came here from Trinity and we're delighted to have him."

It was almost comical, really, the way her head turned in surprise to find that _someone else_ had been in the office the entire time. She blamed her nerves and her tunnel vision—she'd been so focused on what Jaha wanted to see her about and how much trouble she was in that she hadn't noticed anything else. Bellamy Blake looked blankly back at her, his eyes scanning over her just as she did the same to him. He was striking, even though his features individually gave him a sense of normalcy, and he was cute, with curls just a little bit too long around his ears, and a nice jaw that she noticed right away, not that she cared about that sort of thing, but objectively that was the truth, and she didn't have to be single to know that for a fact. She was sure she had a slight blush on her cheeks once she realized what she was doing and quickly turned back to face Jaha. Why had he brought her here to meet some new student? 

Unless… was he the one who had snitched—

"Principal…"

"I'd like you to show him around the school! Being a new student is tough enough and you know I pride myself on the knowledge that we're a very welcoming community," Jaha explained, causing her shoulders to sag in relief. She wasn't in trouble. The principal kept going on about it — telling her that he thought she was perfect for the role because last year, she'd been such a good sophomore class representative (which she _was,_ even if it was embarrassing to hear him say it), that she hoped she would show Bellamy Blake how Arkadia High would be a great fit for him, etcetera, etcetera — but she mostly ignored him, only nodding when she should and agreeing to his request. She kept wanting to look over at Bellamy, who had stayed silent during all of this, but she didn't. Finally, once Jaha's spiel was finished, they were sent back to homeroom, even though it had long since finished by now, with late slips, and Clarke was now in a hallway with Bellamy Blake, heading to his first period class, AP Lit with Ms. Yates.

This was so awkward. He wasn't saying _anything._

"Sorry about Jaha," she said, hesitant. "He's just that kind of guy."

Still nothing. Well, if he wasn't going to talk, then she wasn't going to put in half the effort either.

"Right, so, after AP Lit, you have Spanish, and that's just a few doors down from Ms. Yates' room, it's pretty straightforward, but um, after that, we can meet by the auditorium on the second floor and—"

"No."

She almost tripped over her feet. "Sorry?"

"It's… _nice_ of you," (he said _nice_ like he had a different word in mind), "to do all this, but I don't need it. I can follow a schedule."

“I know,” she said, stopping herself from narrowing her eyes at him. His tone was getting to her. “But Jaha wants me to show you around.”

"And if he asks, I'll say you did a fantastic job. Very welcoming and everything."

" _Or_ I can just show you around."

" _Or_ you can go to your class."

"I'm going to do what Jaha asked me to." She started walking ahead, stubborn even though she knew he wasn't following her. "This is the freshman hallway. You probably won't be here often, but if you ever _have_ to, find some way out of it."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, they're way too annoying to—"

"I mean, seriously, you're going to do this?"

"Yes," she answered, turning around to face him and unable to keep the bite out of it. She wasn't sure _why_ she was still doing this, but she had always been too stubborn for her own good (and it was a fact about herself that she acknowledged, thank you very much), so that was enough to motivate her sometimes. Like now, for example. "And you don't have to listen, but I'm still going to. So either you can come with me or you don't."

He scowled. He absolutely wasn't cute. He was so _far_ from that. "I don't," he said, walking past her almost roughly, waving a hand in the air with the note of dismissal (she was going to _murder_ him). "Don't worry, Princess, I'll tell Jaha you were a great tour guide."

For a moment, she was struck immobile with a blind fury that overtook her. All she could think about was running after him — this guy who she had _just met,_ who was acting like he was better than her, who was a complete _dick_ — and dragging him back to Jaha's office. But then it passed and she counted to ten in her head, loosened her fist, and exhaled deeply. Fine. He could be a dick as much as he wanted but that didn't mean that she had to put up with it.

It wasn't until she was halfway through her Bio class that she remembered what he had called her. _Princess._ What the hell?

*

**(APOLOGIES.)**

"Is that him? The one with the curly hair? Oh, he's cute. Was he _really_ that terrible?" Harper asked, the questions rattling off into Clarke's ear while they made their way through the lunch line. Clarke listlessly grabbed an apple and a milk carton and firmly did not look into the cafeteria, where she had _unfortunately_ spotted Bellamy earlier. "He doesn't _look_ that bad."

"That's how he fools you," she said, glaring at her tray, "but he's the devil incarnate. Trust me. Worse than Dax Shephard."

"Dax Shephard kills puppies, Clarke!"

"Exactly." Her voice darkened. "Worse."

Harper sighed. They sat down at their regular table, but she was still glancing over with marked interest at Bellamy, who had _somehow_ made friends with Nathan Miller and John Murphy already, enough so that they were all sitting together at another table not far from them. "I don't know. Maybe he was just in a bad mood. Starting a new school is hard." Harper had experience with that, since she had transferred in the middle of seventh grade, but Clarke was not easily persuaded.

"If he was in a bad mood, he shouldn't have taken it out on me. I didn't even _do_ anything to him!" Harper nodded. " _And_ ," she added, most affronted by this, really, "he called me _Princess_."

"Who called you Princess?" Finn's voice jumped in, startling her. He kissed her cheek and she smiled weakly at him. Monty and Jasper slipped into the other empty chairs.

"No one," she said. She remembered when Finn had called her that, when he first started talking to her, and she'd put her foot down so vehemently he'd stopped almost immediately. No need to give him any ideas. "Monty, please tell me that rumor I heard about you and Jasper getting detention for almost setting the chem lab on fire isn't true."

He grinned sheepishly. "There may be some truth in it."

"It was an accident!" Jasper protested. "We were being careful! But then I saw Maya and you _know_ how I lose it when I see her…"

"You're hopeless," Harper said, shaking her head. "And you forgot to get me yogurt!"

"I didn't _forget._ I put Monty in charge of it and _he_ forgot."

"Wait a minute, don't blame _your_ mistakes on me."

"I'm just letting the truth be heard!"

"Okay," Clarke cut in, before the bickering got to be too much, "I'll go get the yogurt. Don't eat my apple."

"Thanks, Clarke!"

"Can you get me another milk?"

“And some mozzarella sticks too?”

She rolled her eyes but nodded. It was hard to believe now, but she really had missed them over the summer. She wove her way through the cafeteria, picking up everything she needed, and ended up running into someone. 

“Sorry,” she said, looking up to see Bellamy Blake looking at her with almost a smirk on his face. Her apologetic smile died on her lips. Why wasn’t it possible to take back something she said? “Ignore that.”

"Ignore what?"

"Exactly."

He gave her a confused look. "Okay. You're in my way."

"You're paying for that." She pointed to the items in his hand. "So we're going the same way."

"You're in my way to get in the line," he clarified, and once again, he walked past her, missing the face she made behind his back before she followed him. (She didn't _want_ to, but she still had to pay.)

A full minute passed with just the chatter of the other students around them before she spoke again, belligerent and demanding. "You owe me an apology."

Bellamy turned around. "An apology for what?" He _sounded_ genuinely unclear.

"Your behavior this morning."

"I saved you from having to do a useless tour yet I'm supposed to apologize?"

"It's not about the tour and you know it," she hissed at him. "I was _incredibly_ nice to you and you were an asshole."

"The only reason you were _being nice_ to me was because Jaha was forcing you to be nice to me," he countered, arching an eyebrow that basically dared her to disagree. That was easy, because she did disagree.

"I was _being nice_ because I'm a nice person! And I notice you didn't deny that you were an asshole, by the way."

He scoffed. "I've heard that a million times. Try another insult."

"Of _course_ you're okay with that."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"It means—"

"Hey," someone interjected, annoyed. "Are you guys paying or what?" Clarke blinked in surprise. Oh. That was what everyone behind them was waiting on. Quickly, they reached the register, swiped their cards, and got out of the line. Before Bellamy could escape, though, she grabbed a hold of his arm. 

"It _means_ ," she continued, "that I'm not surprised that you think it's a good thing that you're a dick. Maybe no one's told you this before," she said, nearly poking him in the chest, "but it's not."

“I don’t know,” he said, lip curling up into a sneer, “it beats being a self-righteous, uncompromising teacher’s pet who can’t handle it when someone disagrees with her.”

Maybe what she should’ve objected to was the entire thing, but all she could focus on was, “Self righteous? All I was doing was _trying_ to welcome you."

"Which I didn't want or need. I'm not an idiot. I can get around the school fine. I'm here, aren't I?"

 _Unfortunately,_ she almost said. "Fine, you didn't want the tour. I get that." It was hard for her to concede any point. "But you didn't have to have that _attitude._ Being _nice_ goes a long way. What did I even do to you?"

Bellamy rolled his eyes. "All right then. You got me. I apologize. Happy?"

"No!" She blocked his path once more and noticed his jaw tense in irritation. _Good,_ she thought, _I hope you're annoyed forever._

"What do you _want_?" He said, exasperated. "I just apologized!"

"How can you call that an apology? You didn't even mean it."

"Like you mean all _your_ apologies? So you're a princess _and_ a saint? This school is _so_ lucky."

There it was again. _Princess._ "Stop calling me that."

"What now?"

" _Princess_ ," she said, disdain wrapped in the word. "What the hell?"

He smirked. He was so far from _cute_ that she felt disgusted with herself for even considering him in that way just a few hours earlier. As if. "If the shoe fits. Jaha told me your mom used to be the principal here. Now she's the superintendent. Raved about your family and how promising you are."

"So?"

"So," (humorlessly, even though he laughed), "that makes you royalty at this school. Hence the name."

She could feel her ears get warm, flushing with anger and embarrassment. Everything else had really faded away in her fury, the other students, the fact that they were in the middle of the cafeteria, that people were whispering not-so-discreetly about them. 

"That has nothing to do with this."

"Maybe not," he shrugged, "but it's a pretty good comparison. And it really gets to the heart of the issue."

" _How_?"

"You're not used to not getting your way."

She was embarrassed because he was right—in a way. There _was_ a part of her that hated that. But that part was small. "You'd say _anything_ to deflect from taking responsibility, won't you?"

He didn't answer her. "You're in my way." But she didn't budge. "God, you're annoying."

"You've seen nothing yet."

"As flattered as I am by your persistence," here, her cheeks turned pink—with indignation, of course, "I'm not interested." Bellamy's eyes flitted across her face, landing on a spot behind her. "And aren't you spoken for?"

She turned around to come face to face with Finn. "Yes, she is," he said, a little snidely, as he stepped closer to her. Clarke barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. "Who are you?"

"Ask her," Bellamy answered, picking up his apple and napkins and leaving. "I've gotta go."

"Hey, I'm not—" She started, stopping herself when she realized how futile it was.

"Who was that?"

"No one," she replied, glaring in the direction Bellamy had left, "don't worry about it."

*

**(CHEMISTRY.)**

Fifth period was easily the worst of the day, no matter what the subject was, because it was the last class and it was understood that no one actually wanted to be there. Clarke wasn’t immune to this feeling, but she thought it was changing this year because she was taking Chemistry with Cartwig and her feelings on that were much more positive than most everyone else’s (aside from Monty and Jasper’s).

But she was cruelly proven wrong on that front when she saw Bellamy Blake strolling into class.

She practically hissed. “What’s he doing here?”

Monty sighed. “Waiting for class to start, probably.”

“But… _why_?” She did not look in his direction. She couldn’t give him the satisfaction. It had taken two full class periods to forget about the Lunch Debacle (Jasper’s words) and she was not about to break that streak.

“He’s taking Chemistry?”

“But this is _my_ class.”

“I don’t think he cares about that.”

“Of course he wouldn’t.” Clarke jerked her head away from his glance. 

“I really think you’ve just gotten on the wrong foot!” Jasper cut in, leaning forward from his seat behind her and Monty. “He was in my gym class earlier and he was cool.”

“Okay, _traitor_ ,” she said, twisting back in her chair to send an appropriately intimidating glare at Jasper. “I thought you were on my side.”

"I didn't know there were sides in this!" Jasper exclaimed, backtracking quickly a second later, "I mean, I support you! Obviously!"

"Ugh," she said, pushing away from Jasper's desk and going back to her own, just in time for Miss Cartwig to arrive. Thank God. Cartwig was a strict teacher, known for demanding the most out of her students, and it would be perfect for keeping Clarke from dwelling on all the ways she could get revenge on Bellamy.

(Okay, she wasn't _that_ good of a teacher. Some thoughts still crept in.)

And then things took a drastic turn. 

“All right,” Miss Cartwig’s voice rang out, grabbing their attention instantly, despite the fact that everyone had been talking amongst themselves as they finished the class introduction. “You may or may not know that for this class, a large part of your grade depends on a semester-long project that requires you to conduct and complete a series of experiments and record the process. I have structured it so that these experiments are done in two-person groups, due to how many must be completed." There was a buzz of excitement. Half of the class had only taken it to blow something up. Clarke felt a similar rush. "In the past, my students have picked their own partners, but due to some… incidents last year, I will be assigning the groups myself."

The class erupted into murmurs of complaint. "And no, I will not be changing your groups around, so don't bother asking. It'll go nowhere. Now, when I call your names, please get up and sit next to your partner. We're spending the last fifteen minutes going over everything about this project."

Clarke blinked once, twice, and inexplicably, her gaze landed on Bellamy, who was doodling in his notebook. There was no way Cartwig would do that to her, right? There was no way _fate_ would do that to her. There were twenty four students in the class; statistically speaking, there was way more of a chance that she would be paired up with anyone but Bellamy. Best case scenario, she would be paired with Monty. (No such luck. He was paired with Riley Evans.) Or Jasper (who looked too gleeful about getting to sit by Maya Vie.) Even _Murphy_ would be preferable. (Hollis Devrie had that dubious honor.) 

As the names rolled on, the sense of dread that had started as a little pinprick inside her stomach had grown into something the size of a baseball. She was _almost_ unsurprised when she heard Miss Cartwig say, "Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin," throwing part of the class into snickers (news of the Lunch Debacle had spread fast).

Almost unsurprised. "Miss Cartwig," she protested, without thinking, "I don't—"

"Clarke," she said, casting a censorious eye over her. "You heard what I said earlier."

"Yes," she said, slumping back in her seat. To her annoyance, Bellamy slipped into the empty seat next to her a moment later. "Absolutely not," she directed to the newcomer.

“I don’t like this any more than you do,” he said, whispered in between the last names called out. 

“Well, you should’ve objected.”

“And how did that go for you?”

"She can't say no to both of us."

"I've only been here for a day and I can already tell you you're wrong."

"I'm _not_ working with you."

"Would you look at that," he muttered, "we finally agree on something."

She decided not to respond. It was bad enough that he was _right._

*

**(HOW TO WIN FRIENDS AND INFLUENCE PEOPLE.)**

"Should I ask?" This, in response to Clarke throwing her chemistry textbook into her locker and slamming the other books around just to make noise, came from Finn.

She didn't hear him. She barely recognized that he was right there. 

"He is _so_ infuriating," she said, grabbing her calc textbook and throwing it into her bag. It did not give her any satisfaction. "It's not just _my_ grade at stake here. It's his too!"

Finn sighed. "Blake again?"

"And he has the gall to even call _me_ entitled—" She tried to zip up her bag, but the motion was too violent, accidentally catching part of it in the zipper. 

"Clarke."

"Fuck!"

"Clarke!" The sharpness of Finn's voice finally clued her into his presence and she blinked at him in surprise. Had he been here this entire time? "Why do you let him get to you like that?"

Affronted: "I do _not_."

"You've been complaining about him for a week now!"

She flushed with anger. It had been a _week_ now that he had been dodging her attempts to settle a schedule to meet up for the project, half due to terrible excuses, half with no excuses. She had had enough. "You don't understand—"

"He's just some dick who wants a reaction and knows he can get it from you," he said, shaking his head. "Just… ignore him!"

"I _can't_ ," she stressed, slamming her locker shut. "He's my stupid partner for Cartwig's project." A familiar figure came into her periphery and her face contorted into an expression of distaste before she decided to stomp over to his locker, where he had gathered a small crowd. "And he's about to die."

Pushing her way through the group (his popularity was another thing about him that made no sense to her; how it was that anyone enjoyed his company enough to hang out with him for more than ten minutes was beyond her), she found him at the center of it, his arm draped over Roma Sanderson, unaware that Clarke had pushed in until she cleared her throat. He did not look surprised to see her.

“Come with me."

"Excuse me?" He said, raising an eyebrow.

"You heard me." She fixed him with a demanding stare and his arm dropped from Roma's shoulders. "Either you follow me or we'll just have it out here. It doesn't really matter to me."

A muscle in his jaw ticked in annoyance and she watched him debate the options. When he made up his mind, he jerked his head, pushing off from his locker and said, "Fine. Let's go." 

Clarke turned on her heel without a reply, setting away from his locker at a quick pace, refusing to look back to see if he was following her. If she didn't do this now, full of mostly adrenaline, she would lose the nerve. She was already sucking up her pride here.

She stopped in front of the library. "If you just wanted—"

"Shut up," she said, facing him finally. "You don't get to talk right now. We need to get started on the project."

Bellamy simply looked at her and said, “We have four months.”

“Yeah,” she said, “but we’ll need all that time. You saw the list of experiments. That’s going to take all four months.”

“If you were really bad at it, maybe.”

Her eye twitched. Why didn't _if looks could kill_ actually kill? “Did you just zone out when Cartwig was speaking? We can’t slack off—”

“I’m not suggesting we do.” He dropped his bag on the floor and waved at someone. “But there’s no point in starting this early when we don’t need to.”

But that meant spending even more time with him and she was _not_ about to do that. “I’m _not_ procrastinating on this.”

“It’s not procrastinating.”

“Yeah, it’s just putting it off until later, which is _so_ different from procrastinating.”

"You make it sound like we'll never get it done."

"If we don't get started, that might as well happen."

"Has anyone commented on how hyperbolic you are?"

"It's not _hyperbole_ if it's true."

Bellamy took a deep breath to stop himself from saying something that was probably unwise. "Why don't you ever give up?"

"Why don't you _care_?" 

"Because we have four months to do this."

"And the longer we wait, the shorter that timeframe is. And the lab times will fill up. And soon you'll be wondering why we can't get in to do our project and you may not care about your grade or passing junior year or, I don't know, _anything,_ but all of that is important to me and I'm not going to sit around waiting for you to realize I'm right."

"All right," he conceded, finally, a long pause before he said anything, sounding like he finally regarded the reasons to be important enough to take under consideration. "I'm free Thursday after school. Is that good enough for your Highness?"

She nodded. "Great. We'll meet at the chemistry lab at 3:45. If you're late, I'll kill you."

"Joy," he said sarcastically, picking up his back, hitching it on his shoulder and walking away already. "You're one hell of a welcoming committee."

Behind his back, she flipped him off.

*

**(SARATOGA.)**

To be honest, Clarke did not expect him to show up.

She booked the lab for Thursday, reserved it for two hours, and still didn’t think he would make it. It didn’t matter, technically, because she was going to work on the project, no matter what, whether he showed up or not, but at 3:40, she heard the door open and whirled around to find him walking towards her.

“You’re early,” she blurted out.

“Well, you threatened to murder me, so it felt kind of necessary,” he said dryly, dumping his bag onto another table before sitting down next to her, one chair apart.

"I'm surprised you listened," she said primly.

"I bet you didn't think I would show up," he said, unexpectedly cheery. "You were waiting to say I knew it, weren't you?"

"Of course not. I knew you would." She cleared her throat and began pulling her notebook out. "We're wasting time."

"What's with the rush? Hot date with Prince Charming?"

She glared at him. He'd taken to calling Finn that ever since their lunch meeting and it didn't take a genius to know that it wasn't meant as a compliment. "No," she said, "I'm working on student council stuff."

"They're nice flyers." Warily, she thanked him. "You're running unopposed. What else do you have to do?"

"A profile about myself, for starters. A quote for the newspaper. And I have to submit an essay for consideration." She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. "It doesn't matter if I'm the only one running."

He whistled slowly. "Seriously? You're going to do all of that just to be the representative of a class that doesn't care?"

Her back straightened. Deep down, she knew he was right. Their class was incredibly apathetic. She _didn't_ have to campaign; she _was_ running unopposed. She could spend her time doing a lot of other things, instead of devoting four hours tonight to all of this. But her mom had said it was good for her college applications and, well, it was nice to do something like that. She liked being on the student council, even if most of them didn't take it seriously. It still didn't make it okay for Bellamy to _say_ that. "We're wasting time," she repeated, voice hard, "and I'm not staying a minute past 5:30."

A pause. Then, from him: "Look, I didn't mean—"

"I think we should minimize conversation," she said, before he made her feel bad. "I have all the equipment ready, so we just need to look at the list to see what else we need." Clarke pointed towards the sheet in between them. "For example, this one is AgCl, which you have to break down into—"

"Silver and chloride," he answered. She blinked at him. "I _do_ pay attention in class, you know."

"Since when?"

"Since always." He pointed to the next solution. "BaSO4. Barium and sulfate."

She could not disguise the shock on her face. To make it worse, Bellamy _laughed,_ a half-grin forming on his face. "I'm not as dumb as you clearly think I am."

"I—" She didn't know what to say.

"Didn't think about that?"

"Didn't think you _cared_ ," she said, like that made it better. "Enough to know and remember all of this."

"Don't worry. I won't hold it against you." He got out of the chair and nodded his head in that universally boy way, which had never made any sense to Clarke, no matter who did it. "I'll bring everything we need back."

He did, a few minutes later, and it was all correct. When he actually worked in the silence she had requested, Clarke realized she had been surprised by Bellamy Blake three times today.

*

**((NOT) A TRUCE.)**

Everyone found it suspicious that she and Bellamy were working together—and had been for the past three weeks—without so much as a fight between them.

(Well, there was _one,_ but it wasn't a fight, because it was technically more of a disagreement, really, that had started over both of them misreading a solution and arguing that their respective ones were right, only to end in simultaneous conclusions that both of them were wrong and sheepishly moving onto the next solution.)

"But he hasn't said _anything_ to antagonize you?" Harper asked, gaping at her over her plate. They were sitting in the pizza place downtown, a half-eaten pizza on the table.

"And you haven't antagonized him either?" Monty added. She resented that characterization.

"I think that's _great_ ," Jasper unsurprisingly commented. "See, I told you he was cool. He actually said he wanted to play Minecraft with me the other day."

"I don't know if that's what I'd consider cool, Jas," she said, laughing, "and he's still _not._ Cool, I mean. I still think he's a dick who judges people too much. And he's egotistical. But when he shuts up, he's… fine, I guess. We're not friends or anything."

"But you're not fighting."

"We're working together to get our project done."

"Without fighting."

"Fine, yes, without fighting!" She granted, exasperated. "For now! It's not that big of a deal!"

Three sets of eyes gave her the same look. "Clarke, seriously," Monty said, shaking his head, "this is a good thing. If you guys have a truce—"

"It is _not_ a truce. Once this project is over, we're not going to suddenly get along with each other."

"But _maybe_ …"

"No," she said firmly. "New subject!"

The three of them snickered. Helpfully, because she really was the best of her friends, Harper obliged. "I thought Finn was coming too."

"His parents had some friends over and he couldn't leave," she explained, ignoring the part that he hadn't told her this until ten minutes before she was ready to go. She wished he'd given her a heads up sooner, especially since they'd arrived yesterday. "He doesn't like pizza anyways."

Jasper's slice slipped out of his hand. "He doesn't like _pizza_?" He asked, horrified. "Are you _sure_ you want to date him, Clarke?"

"I'm sure," she said, amused.

Monty elbowed him. "Maya doesn't like pizza either, remember?"

"That's different."

"How?"

"Because she's _Maya_."

Clarke, Harper, and Monty all shared an eyeroll, but they had opened the floodgates, so they dutifully listened to Jasper wax poetic about Maya Vie.

*

**(OCTAVIA.)**

In a strange sequence of events one November afternoon, Clarke found herself in her car with Bellamy, driving towards the middle school. 

She would be the first to admit that she didn't know much about Bellamy. What she did know about him was gleaned from the whispers about him around the school — as the most recent new guy, he still inspired a lot of interest. She had learned, though she had no way of knowing if it was true or not, that he had been kicked out of his last school, that he had actually done some time in juvie two years ago, and that he didn’t have a girlfriend. (This last bit was of interest to a lot of the junior class, not her. She just wanted to make that clear.) There were a lot of rumors swirling around about him, but those were the ones that seemed to solidify into something the most. 

Not one of the rumors mentioned that he had a younger sister.

She had found that earlier, towards the end of their lab session, when he returned from a phone call he had stepped out to take. 

Glancing up from the beaker she was mixing, she noticed the look on his face and couldn't refrain from asking, “Is everything okay?”

His answer was brusque. "Yeah. Don't worry about it."

"I wasn't," she muttered under her breath, but he was already stepping outside, returning not even a minute later, running a hand through his hair. She gave up. "Okay, seriously, what's going on?"

She wasn't sure that it was her impatience that did the trick, but he ended up, reluctantly, telling her about what his numerous phone calls and agitation were about. It was his sister, he said, she was stuck at school because of a detention she had (and he went on a tangent about that, which she had to steer him away from), and his mom couldn't pick her up because she was at work, and he'd tried to get a hold of her to no avail, and _he_ couldn't do it because he didn't have his car this week, and Miller couldn't come by because he was somewhere with his boyfriend and there was no point asking Murphy because he was usually unreachable from the hours of 4 PM to 7 AM and Octavia (his sister, she finally put two and two together) couldn't _stay_ there, and he didn't know what to do.

It was really weird, Clarke thought, to see Bellamy lose his cool like that. She was so used to him sauntering around the school, acting like nothing mattered, like nothing affected him—so much so that he was almost a completely different person then.

It must’ve been why she made the offer like it meant nothing. “I can take you there.”

His brows furrowed. “Sorry, what?”

“To pick up your sister.”

“No,” he said, once he realized she was being serious. If he had known her even a little bit better, he would’ve known that telling her ‘no’ only made her dig in her heels more.

“Why not?”

“Because—because,” he sputtered, “this is my problem. You don’t need to stick your nose in it.”

She scoffed in offense. “I’m doing no such thing! I know it’s your problem and I don’t want to be involved—”

“Then don’t,” he warned.

She finished stirring the solution and set it aside. “I’m your _only_ option here. Are you really going to say no because of your pride?”

He looked like he was going to say ‘yes’ just to disagree, but then remembered his sister was stuck at school. Roughly, he gestured to their table. “We’re not done with this yet.”

“We’ve got two experiments left and three write ups. We can make that up next time easy.” He looked unsure. “If it _really_ bothers you, you can do two of the write ups.”

A hint of a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. That was acquiescence. “You’d trust me enough to do it by myself?”

The thing was, he had shown again and again these last few months that he was much more skilled in Chemistry than he appeared, so when it came down to _trusting_ him to do this on his own, she could do just that. Not that she would say that to his face though. “Please, I’ll just blame you if Cartwig finds any problem with it.” That was acceptance.

“Fair deal,” he said, shuffling his feet, sticking his hands in his pockets and then removing them. “Okay, uh, well, if you’re really serious about, uh, taking me there, I’d really… appreciate it.”

She had to control her smile. It wasn’t often that she got him to agree with her. “Yeah, I’m serious. Let’s clean this up first and we can go.”

So now he was sitting in the passenger seat, body all stiff and tense, like he was two seconds away from rolling out of the car and taking his chances. Luckily for him, Clarke had a lot of experience in the art of small talk. Her mother would be happy to know that those endless parties had done the trick.

“How old is your sister? Octavia.”

“Eleven,” he answered, terse as anything. 

“Sixth grade?”

“Yep.” He was going to be hard to shake. 

“Does she like it?”

Distracted, he replied, “Like what?”

“Sixth grade,” she clarified. “Is she all into middle school or is she one of those I can’t wait to go to high school people?”

“Neither. I don’t know.” 

“I was so into middle school.”

Bellamy snorted. “Figures. Were you also into elementary school?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that.”

“Figures.”

“It’s better than not caring about anything,” she said, surprisingly calm. This wasn’t an argument and it didn’t feel like it was heading in that direction.

“I care about the important stuff.”

“You do a hell of a job showing that.”

“I don’t see why I have to.”

He had a point. “I guess.” Ready to keep talking, she was interrupted by Bellamy, who had finally relaxed, not by much, but enough that he had loosened his shoulders and leaned back in the seat. 

“Octavia… she’s never really been one for school. She doesn’t like it much.”

“That’s normal though.”

“Coming from the girl who is the number one cheerleader for school.”

“I never said I thought that was normal.” That made him laugh. He had an okay laugh, she decided. If he laughed more often, she probably wouldn’t be opposed to that. 

“But she liked the last school she was at. And then we moved,” he said, a bitter edge to it. “So I don’t know if she’s really adjusting.”

“Are _you_ adjusting?”

“Is this welcoming committee shit again?”

“No,” she said, with a scoff. “It's the me asking shit again. I just wanted to know.”

Chastised, he mumbled, “It's fine.” Even quieter still, “Thanks.”

She nodded and they fell into a silence—neither unbearable nor companionable. Eventually, she said, “Did you know people talk about you a lot?”

“Yeah, actually. I’ve learned a lot of things about myself.”

She smiled just a little. “Does that mean none of it’s true?” Clarke felt his eyes on her.

“Go ahead. Just ask.”

She hesitated for a second and, even though she was slowing down at a stop sign, did not look at him. “Is it true that you were kicked out of Trinity?”

He chuckled, short but not sharp. “No.”

She filed away this piece of information for later. “The suspension?”

Bellamy paused. “That one’s true. For a week. You should’ve seen the other guy.”

Wrinkling her nose, she said, “I’m okay with not seeing that. Why were you fighting?"

"He said some bullshit about a friend of mine and I got pissed about it."

"Oh." She adjusted to this new world with this information under her belt. "I guess you don’t have a motorcycle.”

“Nope,” he said. “I’m not a motorcycle kind of guy.”

“Mel Teague swears she saw you on one.” Melanie Teague also had a huge crush on Bellamy.

“Mel Teague should probably get her eyes checked. Anything else?”

“Just that.. never mind.”

There was almost a semblance of amusement in his voice. “Juvie? Heard that one too. No, I’ve never been, but this all makes me sound a lot cooler than I actually am.”

“If you’ve heard all of this and know it’s wrong, why don’t you say anything about it?”

“Like I said. It makes me sound really cool. I don’t have a motorcycle but if everyone wants to think I do, who am I to stop them?” Clarke rolled her eyes. Boys were so stupid. There was one more thing she _could_ ask him, but she didn’t care about that.

Instead, she said, "You can ask me something, you know."

Bemused, he asked, "Why?"

"You don't _have_ to," she shrugged, "but I asked you a bunch of questions and you actually answered them. It's only fair if you get to do the same."

He didn't respond to that for a while, so long that she assumed he had just decided to tune her out. Finally, he punctured that well of silence. "Have you lived here long?"

"My whole life, basically. Except for a year and a half in DC when my dad had a job there, but I don't count that."

"Your dad the engineer," he supplied.

One day, she would stop being surprised that Bellamy paid attention. Today was not that day. "Yeah… he did some contract work for a company down there, but we came back pretty fast."

"Did you like it there?"

"I don't remember it. I was, like, three."

"I remember a lot when I was three."

"Bullshit."

"Don't be jealous."

"Don't make me laugh."

"I can't help that my memory is amazing." Bellamy paused, then must’ve settled on a next question. “Have _you_ been to juvie?” It was obvious that he meant it as a joke, but she blushed and he sat up straighter. “Seriously?”

“No! I haven’t! But, um, one time I helped a friend egg someone’s house for a dare—”

“You don’t seem the type for a dare.”

“I’m not _that_ bad.”

“Whatever you say.”

“So _anyways_ , their dad was a cop, and he was pissed.”

“Did you get hauled in?”

“My mom was so mad. She got the guy to calm down, though, and then just lectured me the whole way home. I still get so embarrassed about it.”

"What's it like having your mom be the superintendent?"

She groaned. "It's better than when she was the principal and I had to see her at school all the time?"

His grin was apparent in his words. "You lead a really hard knock life, Princess."

"Don't you start," she grumbled, turning onto the road that would lead to the middle school. "I know I'm lucky. But I still hate it."

"At least you're aware." She tossed him a side-along glare that he ignored. "So the student council? Are you trying to follow her footsteps?"

“My mom thinks it's a good idea,” she admitted, her hands tightening on the steering wheel. “For college applications and stuff. But, and I know you won’t believe me, but I actually do like being on it. I like helping out. I like the school and I like most of the people.”

The derision she had expected to hear did not appear. “No, I, uh, believe you.” She heard him turn away, facing the window again as they came nearer and nearer to the school. “I owe you an apology.”

“Probably,” she said breezily, though her hands were still clutched at the wheel. “But about what exactly?”

“For getting on you for being on the student council. For implying people don’t care.”

Oh. That, months ago. She had forgotten until now. “You didn’t imply it. You just said it.” Bellamy opened his mouth to object but she was faster. “I know people don’t care, though. I still like it. But thanks. I appreciate it.” It was sincere, though it didn’t sound like it. 

Thankfully, they came up to the entrance a moment later, sparing them any further discussion. They’d had a largely successful, honest conversation; it was a shame if it petered out like that.

“Is that her?” She pointed to a slight figure sitting against a pillar, headphones on and unaware they had arrived. 

“Yeah,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’ll just, uh, be back.”

She watched him approach his sister, looming over her until she noticed his presence. Octavia looked up, annoyance in her face, and said something. After a few minutes, she finally got up and looked over at the car. Clarke froze and waved awkwardly at her, wishing that she hadn't just blatantly watched the two of them. 

The back door opened a moment later, with Octavia's head poking in. She didn't look much like Bellamy, apart from the dark hair and dark eyes, but she saw a resemblance in the strong jaw and the defiant attitude she projected. "Are you Clarke?" She nodded. "Are you my brother's girlfriend? He talks about you—ouch!" Bellamy, evidently, had pinched her arm. 

Clarke was glad for the distraction because she had bloomed a deep red in response and needed the time to do something _other_ than stammer, "Of course not, what are you talking about," which might've made Octavia Blake think she was lying. She knew how things like this worked. 

"No," she said, some seconds later, pasting on a false smile. "We're just Chemistry partners."

"But you drove him here? I know Bellamy. He would never ask."

"He just looked really desperate so I couldn't in good conscience ignore it any longer, you know," she joked. "Why don't you get in? I'll take you guys home."

Octavia got in the backseat, snapped her seatbelt on, and kept looking at her with inquisitive eyes. They were a little unnerving and they looked a lot like Bellamy's. Once Bellamy climbed into the passenger side, Clarke turned to him. "Where do you live?"

"On Forrest," he said, reluctantly. "Do you know how to get there?"

"Not really," she said. "But put your address into my phone and we can probably figure it out." 

The ride was deeply uncomfortable, between Octavia, clearly curious enough to _want_ to fill up the silence with questions but surly enough that she was refusing to do anything except angrily text on her phone, and Bellamy, who had reverted to the tense, anxious Bellamy that had first taken a look at her car and stiffly gotten inside it. There was nothing she could do about it; both times she had asked if they wanted music on, there had been no response besides Bellamy's grunt, which she interpreted as a no, and when she did put music on, because she couldn't take it anymore, it had accidentally started playing from her sad girl jams playlist, the one she only listened to when she wanted to stew in her own misery. By the time they pulled up in front of the apartment Bellamy pointed out to her, all three of them were dying to get out of the car.

Octavia got out first, walking away and towards the door without another word. Bellamy was slower, sighing, undoing his seatbelt, turning towards Clarke.

He looked at a loss for words. 

Then: "Do you... want—to come in? We have—juice, and Coke or whatever, water—"

Taken aback by the offer, thirsty, but mostly curious about where he lived, since she was finding out so much about him today, she nodded, a little dumbly. "I like water."

"Okay, uh," he nodded, opening the car door. She turned off the car and followed him inside. Along the way, he was rambling. "It might be a little messy, we were in a rush this morning, and both of us are the type to just throw things around without thinking about it, so I'm sorry about that. Our mom won't be back until late tonight, so I'll probably have it clean by then, it's just…"

"Bellamy," she said, eager to stop him, "it's fine. You should honestly see _my_ room, it's like a tornado." He quirked his head back before pushing against the (already) open door. A split second too late, "Not like _that,_ oh my God."

Face red, she ducked her head down and shuffled inside. "What should I—shoes?"

"Oh, there are, uh, some slippers there if you don't mind." While she set her things down and put the slippers on, Bellamy walked away, presumably to get her some water. In his absence, she took the opportunity to look around. The apartment was a little messy, books strewn over the kitchen table, some sweatshirts thrown over the backs of chairs, Octavia's backpack tossed onto the couch. It was definitely smaller than anything she'd lived in, but it reminded her of her grandparents' house, inviting and warm and cozy, the kind of place she always wished she lived in. There were pictures laying around, like they hadn't gotten around to fully decorating the place yet, and she spotted a few with two kids in them, a younger Bellamy and Octavia smiling, cheesing at the camera. One photo had a woman in between them. That was probably their mom. 

"What's the verdict?" His voice cut into her thoughts, startling her out of her reverie. In his hand, he carried a glass of water, which he promptly handed to her.

"Huh?"

"On the place. It probably doesn't live up to what you're used to." She picked out the prickliness in the sentence (though that wasn't hard; he looked entirely too ready for a fight). 

Instead of giving into that, she just took a drink of her water and said, "Where's Octavia?"

"Glaring at me through the walls of her room, I think."

"Is she okay?"

"She'll be fine. She's mostly annoyed I came and got her." 

"What?"

"I know, right?"

"I don't think I'll ask."

"It's too complicated to tell, really." 

"I used to always want a sibling."

"Used to?"

"My dad died."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"It's, uh, usually just been our mom, Octavia, and me." He came around to her other side, poking at a photo that had been tacked onto the wall. "Octavia was three here. She was remarkably well behaved."

"You were adorable," she said, grinning at the sight. He must've been about eight or so there, a gap where a tooth had fallen out. "Look at your face!"

"Gee, thanks," he said dryly, turning his back on the photo and looking towards the opposite wall. "Hey, I wanted to… say… thank you. For everything you did today. It was a lot to ask of you and you were… really great about it. And uh, if you ever need anything, just—you can count on me. Or if you—I mean, do you need money for gas or anything, because I can't get it to you today but next week, definitely, or shit, I don't know, whatever you need, I owe you like a million—"

"Bellamy."

"Yeah?"

"It's fine. I really don't need anything." She shook her head, smiling. "I just wanted to help out. I don't need anything in return."

"That's not fair, though."

"And that's okay."

"But… you did all of this…"

"Bellamy, I gave you a ride so you could pick up your sister from school. That's not a big deal. And you didn't even ask, I offered. Seriously, you don't need to do anything."

"It _is_ a big deal," he insisted, confusion written across his face. "It's just—I don't know."

"Are you really not going to let this go?"

"What if I did those last three write ups?"

"What? Really?"

"Yeah."

"I—I can't let you do that. That's both of our responsibilities."

"You can do the revising."

"Bellamy…"

"Please." He struggled with his next words. "Clarke. Please let me do this."

"I—" There was no fighting him on this. If she was stubborn, he seemed to be twice so. "All right. But just two of them. And we have to do the last one together."

Relief seeped into his features. "Thanks. Okay, yeah, deal."

"Deal." 

They didn't shake on it, but they both nodded, both plunged into silence again. "I should… probably go now. My mom—she'll wonder where I am."

"Oh. Right. Of course." He reached out for the glass and she handed it over gratefully. "Thanks—again."

"It was nice to meet your sister. And to look at your cute baby photos."

"If you could forget that part happened, then I'd really like that."

"No such luck." She grinned at him, appraising him differently. For all of her uncharitable thoughts about him, this afternoon hadn't been so bad. It hadn't been particularly bad at all, even with the grouchiness, the preteen sister, and various awkward silences between them. It was the longest she'd had an extended conversation with him and it was the most she'd learned about him, none of which had fit any of her preconceived notions about him. If she _had_ to, absolutely was forced to say so, she might've even said that the afternoon had been _nice._ "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," he said, "have a safe trip home."

*

**(A TRUCE.)**

**(FOR REAL THIS TIME.)**

The next day, Clarke found Bellamy waiting at her locker. He looked a little nervous, standing there, and it wasn’t like she tried to notice that his hair was tousled, but she was an observant girl, so she did end up noticing. 

“Hi,” she said pleasantly. “Did you get lost or are you stealing my locker?”

“Hey,” he said, stepping aside. “No, your locker’s safe for now.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.” She put in her combination and opened the door, pulling out the books from her bag and transferring them inside. “How’s Octavia?” It still seemed unreal that she’d found out that he had a sister, let alone met her.

"She's basically acting like last night didn't happen. And said she wants me to tell you she's sorry."

"Really?" She gave him a side glance, disbelieving. "She said that."

"She did," he said firmly. "She felt really bad that she brushed you off the entire time."

"Well," she said, biting back a smile, "tell her thank you for that and I accept the apology."

"She likes you though."

"Much to your chagrin, I'm assuming," she teased, grabbing her calc textbook and closing the locker door.

"No—I, of course not."

"I'm sure." 

"I'm serious!"

"I'm sure you are!"

"You're really irritating, did you know that?"

"I like to think of myself as strong willed," she opined, flashing a patented, annoyingly smug grin at him, earning a dramatic eye roll for her. "The bell's going to ring in like five minutes. Are you camping out at my locker?"

"I could," he groused, but he ambled after her, falling in step with her quickly. "Who's your homeroom again?"

"Jensen. She _hates_ people being late."

"I can attest to that."

"Did you try using an excuse on her?"

"It wasn't technically an excuse. I was really held up by Mr. Collison's class."

"Rookie mistake."

"You say that about everything I do."

"Maybe because you make so many of them." She stopped a few steps away from Mrs. Jensen's classroom. "Well, um, this is me, so…"

"Right, yeah," he said, nodding, "cool, I'll just…"

"See you later?"

"Yeah. Chemistry. Lunch, probably." Shyly, (strangely), she waved goodbye to him, and then he spoke again. "Wait, Clarke. Hold on for a sec."

She stopped and turned around. "What's up?"

"Nothing. I... " Someone walked between them, heading into the room, and he stepped to the side, rubbing the back of his neck. "Can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

"Ha. No, uh, just… you know, yesterday, when you gave me a ride to pick up O," he began, trailing off in hesitation. She had never seen him sound like this before, so unsure of himself, because she was so used to the sometimes-dickish confidence he possessed, but little by little, that had fallen to the wayside, or maybe she had just seen past that. Bellamy had a lot more to him than that. "Why did you do it?"

Confused, she simply replied, "Because I wanted to." It was an easy answer to a question that felt so unnecessary. Why shouldn't she have done it? 

"I get that, I do, but I don't know, it was a big thing to do—"

"Not really."

"It was," he said, eyes wide, very sincere all of a sudden. "To me, at least. It was a big deal to me. And I've never been nice to you so I just. Don't get it."

She laughed in embarrassment. "Bellamy, I don't think I have _any_ room to talk about being _nice_ to you."

"Okay, I was absolutely worse, though."

"No, stop that—"

"I don't get it," he repeated. "Why did you help me?"

She sighed, at a loss for words. There _wasn't_ much else behind her decision. She had just _wanted_ to help out. "You looked so stressed. Like you needed someone to help you out there."

"I could've found some way to make it work. Tried my mom again or—"

"Yeah, you could've," she agreed, clutching her books closer to her chest, as she thought of her next words, how to say them without making him fuss about them. "But you know you can just ask people for help, right?"

Quietly, he said, directing most of his words to the wall, "I don't need people to pity me. I didn't need you to pity me."

"I absolutely do not," she wanted that to be made clear. "Like I've said a million times, I helped you because I wanted to. I didn't want anything in return. We may not be friends, but I'm not that awful of a person to just let you run around trying to do everything _but_ ask someone for help while your sister was stuck at school with no one to get her."

"I don't think you're awful."

"That's really nice of you, Bellamy."

"I mean it."

Her face grew warm. Deflecting, she said, "If I'd known that this is what it would take to get you to compliment me, I would've done it a lot sooner."

"I think I've been wrong about you." He laughed, then added, "Like, a lot."

"I think I've done the same." She remembered the way he looked at her last night, so grateful and earnest, and open for a brief moment in time, and how it was settling into a new, fuzzy picture of who Bellamy Blake really was. "Does this mean you want to, like, be friends or something?"

"I… wouldn't be opposed."

What a silly, stubborn way to say yes. She loved it. "Okay," Clarke said, smiling brightly, almost too big to make it look like a regular, everyday smile. "That works for me."

"Cool," he said, and that was that. The bell rang a minute later, sending both of them scrambling, Clarke into the classroom, Bellamy towards the other end of the hall (she hadn't even realized that he wasn't even supposed to _be_ on this side of the school right now), and she slid into her seat with the remnants of that smile still resting on her face. 

"Were you talking with Bellamy Blake?" Finn's voice was sharp, disapproving. Her smile dropped, transforming into a slight frown.

"Maybe."

"Since when do you talk to Bellamy Blake?"

"Since we became Chemistry partners?" He _knew_ this. He _frequently_ complained about this. "Why are you being like this?"

"I don't like it," he whispered, his volume changing as Mrs. Jensen strolled in. "You know he's a dick, so what's the point in—"

"Because I _like_ talking to him," she snapped, eyes flashing at him. "And right now, he's looking a lot better than you."

"Clarke, come on—"

"Mr. Collins, Miss Griffin," Mrs. Jensen barked, bringing their furtive conversation to a halt. "Is there a problem?"

"No," she said, keeping the bite out of her voice, and ignoring Finn's attempts to plead with his eyes, "there isn't a problem at all."

*

**(THANKSGIVING.)**

She should've known something was up when Finn hastily rescinded her invite for Thanksgiving dinner with his family. (But in her defense, she hadn't seen the message until after she got home from his house.) She should've known something was up when Finn was incommunicado for an entire weekend. She should've known something was up when, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

As it stood, she _hadn't_ known that anything was up, so when she found out that he was cheating on her—cheating _with_ her, actually, to be more accurate—needless to say, it hadn't gone over well. After an explosive argument with Raven, Finn's _girlfriend_ of three years, the one he _hadn't broken up with_ when he moved to Arkadia, and another with the man of the hour himself, where she'd thrown the pie she brought over to his house at him, Clarke was _sick_ of Thanksgiving.

So it made perfect sense that her family's big, stilted, formal Thanksgiving dinner was tonight. In eight hours, give or take, which meant not only could she not have the house to herself to mope, she couldn't even stay there without her insufferable cousin Josephine asking her where her boyfriend was. 

The first chance she could, she seized on the excuse about getting pie (Abigail Griffin did not _make_ pies) and sought refuge in the bakery downtown. There was nothing like nursing heartbreak and betrayal in a booth in a busy shop because at least here, no one paid attention to her. 

"Clarke?"

Or so she thought. "Bellamy? Happy Thanksgiving.”

“You too. I hate this holiday,” he said, approaching the booth and standing there until Clarke gestured for him to sit down.

“Me too,” she said ruefully. “What are you doing here?”

"Despite the fact that this is a sham of a holiday, O and I have a tradition. We don't always get a turkey, but we never skip the pie."

She smiled at that image. That sounded better than any of her recent Thanksgivings combined. "How's your break been?"

"Pretty boring. You?"

Boring was the farthest thing from the truth, but _telling_ Bellamy the truth was also the last thing she wanted to do. Although he was remarkably easy to talk to, and even easier to confide him, this time, she felt herself balking at the suggestion of doing so. She didn't want to see his judgement or his pity and she especially didn't want to explain to him _why_ she hadn't seen this coming or how she had actually been caught off guard by it. He didn't like Finn, that much was obvious, had never gotten along with him (though Finn, of course, wasn't any better about it), and she already felt stupid enough without Bellamy being proven right about him.

"Probably even more boring. I've got family over and I've been avoiding them."

"No, see, if you're avoiding people, that doesn't qualify as boring," he decided. "So there's definitely a story there. How awful are they?"

"Like on a scale of 1 to 10?"

"Sure. Or Mr. Sinclair to Mrs. Jensen."

"Jensen, definitely Jensen," she said emphatically. "It's mostly my cousin. Josie. Josephine. She's a year older and she's good at _everything._ And _always_ rubs it in my face."

"You act like you're not good at everything."

"I'm not."

"All right, Clarke."

She threw a shredded piece of napkin at him. "You're disrupting the flow of my story."

"My bad. Continue."

"One time I got second place at the science fair and she jumped in the second I was done to say that she'd won the spelling bee at her school."

"To be fair, you only got _second_ place."

"I was proud of that second place! Another time, she asked me what I was getting our grandmother for her birthday and I told her and she went out and _got the same thing_ and presented it to her first!"

"You _did_ tell her at your own peril." 

"And when I was elected sophomore class rep, she said she was going to run for student council president," she went on, slamming a hand on the table. "She can't let me have _anything_."

"Well, did she win?"

"Win what?"

"Student council president."

"Oh. No, she didn't end up running. But the fact that she _said_ it just to annoy me was enough."

"Jesus," he said, half-laughing, half-shaking his head, "I'm suddenly really glad it's just me, O, and our mom."

"Are you sure? Because I don't mind if you take her off my hands."

"I think I'll pass."

"I thought we were friends," she pouted, feeling the laughter come back to her already, sitting here joking with Bellamy. He had that effect on people, she thought. Or maybe it was just her.

"I didn't realize being friends meant I had to deal with your cousin."

"Then you should've read the footnotes."

"But what if your cousin tries to kill me?"

"She probably would. Or try to seduce you."

"Is she hot?"

"Gross. You can't marry my cousin."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Good."

It wasn't funny, but he laughed anyways, which made her laugh, the first time in the past two days that she had. Once she did, she felt a little better. Not a lot. But a little.

"Sorry you have to deal with that," he said, sounding very genuine. "I'm guessing that's why you're hiding out here? I have to say… hiding in plain sight, it's a pretty bold move."

"Excuse me," she corrected, "I'm not _hiding._ I'm avoiding. And I'm picking up some pie for dinner tonight."

“Then where is it?”

“I haven’t decided what I’m getting yet,” she said defensively, crossing her arms.

"Do you need help?" He reached for the menu placed to the side and flipped it open. "Pecan? That's O's favorite. Or pumpkin, you can never go wrong with pumpkin." Bellamy looked up, gauging her interest. "Is that a no? Sweet potato? Apple? For Thanksgiving? Really? Is this a real thing? Apple cider cream?" Squinting at the menu, he nonetheless moved on, listing more options off the menu, and it was strange, but sitting across from Bellamy, listening to him commentate on _pie choices_ for her, it made her feel uneasy about the fact that she had lied earlier. It made no sense, no, less than no sense, but—

"Finn cheated on me," she blurted out, interrupting his rant about lemon meringue (something about being poisoned as a kid by Octavia's attempt to make one or something) and causing him to drop the menu onto the table, eyebrows raised in shock.

"He… _what_ ," Bellamy asked, blinking at her. "He did what?"

It was hard to say the words. "He has a girlfriend. The entire time we were together." Her fingers bunched around another napkin, this one unshredded, and smoothed it back out. "We were together since _July._ And he's been dating Raven for _three years._ Who does that?"

His words were careful and quite obviously controlled, like he was trying very hard to rein in his temper. "How did you find out?"

"I showed up for his family's Thanksgiving dinner," she said, biting the words out. "Only he had texted me that I wasn't invited anymore, basically, and I didn't see it, so he was there. With his family."

"And his girlfriend?"

"Yeah." The napkin sat crumpled next to her hand and Clarke picked at it, rolling up the edges just for something to do. "And guess what he said."

"I'm a fucking asshole?"

"No," she chuckled dryly, "I wish. No, he said, this is Raven. She's an old family friend. In front of her!"

"What the fuck?"

"I know."

"Did he think that was going to work?"

"I guess. And then Raven started shouting at him and then she shouted at me and _then_ I realized what was happening and finally, I threw my pie at him."

That stopped him short, a smile creeping onto his face. “You did not.”

She nodded emphatically. “I did. It was pecan. It had whipped cream on it.”

“Did it hit the target?”

Obstinately, she nodded again. “I’ve got good aim.”

He leaned back in the booth and assessed her. She willed herself not to hide from his gaze. "I'm impressed."

"I'm impressive," she retorted, grabbing the menu from his side. "And I want pie."

He laughed and grabbed the other menu, but it wasn't before long that he spoke again. "If I ask you something, will you promise not to be mad?"

Lowering the menu down just slightly, enough to see him look oddly at her. "Is it going to make me mad?"

"Probably. That's why you need to promise."

"I can't _promise_ that, Bellamy."

"Then I won't ask."

"You _have_ to ask now," she said, surly. He knew exactly what he was doing. "You can't just _say_ that and then _not_ ask."

"But promise first."

"Fine, I promise I won't get mad," she agreed, rolling her eyes.

"You sound so sincere."

"Just _ask_." 

"All right," he said in exasperation. "What the hell did you see in him?"

"I hate you."

"You promised."

"Well, I take it back."

"You can't _take_ it back."

"I just did!"

"You don't have to answer it."

"Then why did you ask? To make fun of me? I get it. I'm an idiot. I should've seen it coming. I thought he was funny and sweet but I didn't see that he _wasn't,_ okay?" She glared at him and felt the prick of tears at the corners of her eyes, biting down on the inside of her lip to stop them from falling. Clarke was _not_ going to _cry_ in front of Bellamy Blake, even _if_ he was her friend now. "There. I'm stupid. Is that what you wanted?

"No," he said, looking solemn. "I shouldn't have asked that."

"No. You shouldn't have," she said, ducking her head down to blink away the tears. Once she was sure they were gone, she met his eyes again. 

"I'm sorry, Clarke," he said, quiet, remorseful. "Look, I didn't… mean it like that. And you're not stupid."

"Right."

"You're _not_ ," he said emphatically. "Collins is the idiot here. No one else." Bellamy paused. "And me. For asking you like that."

Against her better judgement, she laughed, the noise slipping out almost beyond her control. Sternly, she fixed an impassive expression onto her face. "I can agree on that."

"I'm really sorry," he said again and she could tell he meant it. Sometimes, when people apologized, she knew it was only because it was what was expected of them. Bellamy, when he apologized like he had just done, didn't do anything like that. If he apologized, without being harangued into it, he meant it.

"I know. But can we just—not talk about him right now?" She pleaded, frowning. "I just want to pretend he never existed."

"Sounds good to me," he said lightly. "But—"

"What?"

"You're not stupid. You really aren't."

"Of course I'm not," she said, almost airily. "I have a 4.0 GPA. I'm a lock for valedictorian. " It was just relationship stuff she sucked at.

Bellamy clearly wanted to press the point, but, to his credit, he decided against it. She almost let out a sigh of relief. As well-intentioned as he was, she didn't want to think about Finn Collins today or tomorrow or the next day. She didn't want to think about him when they went back to school next week, where she'd have to sit next to him in homeroom and attend the same AP Lit class together. 

All she wanted, like she'd said earlier, was pie.

"I thought you were going to help me pick out some pie."

He smiled, crooking his mouth up in a half-grin at her, and returned his attention to the menu. "My vote's on the apple cider one. It sounds too weird to pass that up."

*

**(JOYEUX NOEL.)**

There were a lot of things she wasn’t good at (biking (bad experience with a bicycle when she was 9), photography (she liked painting more), puzzles (no patience), and singing (tone deaf), for instance), but the most shameful, she thought, was her lack of skill in gift wrapping. For someone who loved Christmas, and loved giving gifts, it was always a formidable obstacle. Every year, without fail, she would sit down and try her hand at it, and every year, without fail, an hour later, she was standing in line at the gift wrap station at the mall.

Between balancing her bag of gifts and her attention elsewhere, Clarke could be forgiven for not noticing who was behind the station when she got there. But when he spoke, her head snapped up, blinking at Bellamy in a happy surprise. “Hi! I didn’t know you were working here!” 

“Hey, Princess,” he said, amused. “Well, the print shop cut my hours so. Here I am.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said, quickly, reaching over to take her outstretched gift (for Harper, a nice necklace with her initial). Practiced, his hands went through the routine quickly, the selecting, the measuring, the folding, creasing, taping. All the while, he kept talking, “So which are you? Are you too lazy to wrap or just really bad at it?"

"Really bad."

"How bad could you be?"

"Bad enough that I'm here, aren't I?"

"Touché." He put one last piece of tape on Harper's gift and had Clarke choose the gift tag, waiting for her to scribble a note on it. Once she was done, he moved onto the next gift, and she just watched him for a few seconds.

"I don't understand," she declared. "How are you so good at it?"

"If I gave away my secrets, then I'd be out of a job."

"You just want to corner the market on gift wrapping."

"And it's fun being better than you at something."

"Are you seriously bragging about gift wrapping?"

"I've got to take my wins where I can get them."

She scoffed. Was he capable of going a day without being self deprecating? "Then I'm really glad I could be here to be your ego boost."

"That's why I keep you around. That, and the A in Chemistry."

Barely begrudgingly, she agreed. "You were a pretty good partner."

"Yeah, we make a good team," he said, grinning, tying the loops on the ribbon she'd chosen.

"Bet you never thought you'd ever say that."

Bellamy winced. "Don't remind me."

"Of what?" She asked, playing innocent. "Of how awful you were when we first met?"

"You're enjoying this."

"Kind of. Just a little."

Groaning, he finished off the ribbon and waited for her to choose a gift tag. "I was in such a horrible mood that first day—"

"And the rest of the days."

"Yeah, at that point, I had to keep it up. God, I was such a dick."

"Yeah, you were," she said, giggling, "but I was pretty terrible back at you. You just made me so mad. Like, all the time."

"So did you. _All_ the time."

"I think Harper was scared I'd murder you."

"Miller was worried you'd murder me too."

"Hey!"

"I'm joking," he teased, reaching over to grab the next gift, a move that sent her clamoring forward to pull it out of his grasp.

"Not this one!" She said, hiding it behind her back, the ostentatiousness of her display eliciting an alarmed, but curious, look on Bellamy's face. 

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," she said immediately, making it worse. "You don't need to wrap that one. It's fine."

"Are _you_ going to wrap it?"

"I could."

"Even though you were just talking about how bad you are at wrapping gifts?"

"I need to practice sometime."

"Clarke."

"Bellamy."

"Is it something weird? Are you hiding something weird from me?"

 _"No._ Stop thinking about whatever it is you're thinking about."

"I can't. You're being cagey."

"If you _must_ know," she started, nervous, her hands clutching the gift closer, and her voice dropping lower, until it was almost a mumble, "it's… _your_ gift."

This didn't register with Bellamy, not at first, but then his smile dropped, turning into shock. "You got me something?"

"Yeah," she said, looking away. "It's not amazing or anything. I just saw it and… it reminded me of you, so I thought why not, and. Yeah." She'd been stumped on Bellamy, going from wanting to get him something, not knowing if they were the kind of friends _to_ get each other gifts, not sure if he even _wanted_ her to get him something, afraid he wouldn’t accept it, but then she found the book—just some book about chemistry jokes—in a bookstore in Polis and it made her laugh and think about him so she decided that she didn’t care if he didn’t want it because _she_ wanted to get him something. 

“Clarke, I can’t—”

“Before you say anything,” she held her hand up to stop him, “just know it was like $5 and it’s basically just a gag gift and you _have_ to accept it, because I’m not taking it back, and if you don’t like it, that’s fine, but I wanted to get it for you, so you have to accept it.” Clarke lost steam by the end, wishing she’d planned a speech first. She knew he’d make a fuss out of it. He seemed to hate getting anything from anyone, let alone her, so when he just nodded, she didn’t expect it.

"I didn't—ah, well, I didn't get you anything."

She started to laugh. "I didn't get you something so I could get a gift in return."

"Yeah, but…" he looked uncomfortably back at her, "you got me something."

"Only technically. It's not even that cool." The look on his face said that he did not agree with technicalities. "I mean, it's not Christmas _yet_ if that helps."

He rolled his eyes, but reluctantly. "It does, a little."

"Okay, good." Carefully, she snuck Bellamy's gift back into her cart, keeping it hidden from his sight. "If I give this to you now, you can't open it until I leave."

"Why not?"

"I don't want you to hate it in front of me!"

“I won’t hate it,” he said, vowed, growing serious. “I won’t.”

In the face of that earnestness, Clarke could only nod. “Okay,” she said softly. “Don’t look at it though. I mean it.”

Despite the strange demand, he complied, pointing his eyeline upward as he received the gift and placed it under the counter. He made a big show out of it too, which made her laugh, and once he was done, he gestured back to the pile of gifts.

"Can I finish these?"

"Yes. But don't tell Monty what his gift is."

"I don't know about that. He's really persuasive."

"He is, isn't he? Okay, if you do tell him, I won't blame you."

"That's so kind of you."

"Well, I'm an icon of benevolence."

"Okay, that's a bit far."

"Hey Bellamy?"

"What?"

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Clarke."

*

**(SERIOUS.)**

"Clarke, hello? Earth to Clarke?" This was not the first time Jasper had asked her this, but it was the first time she'd heard him.

"Sorry, what?" He threw his hands up in victory.

"Finally!"

"What?"

"I think Jasper's just excited that you're paying attention to us now," Bellamy offered, before guiding them down the hall, where everyone was corralled through to get outside. Today marked their once-a-semester fire drill and it was only right that it had occurred on the coldest day of the winter.

"I've been paying attention," she said. She had not.

"Oh yeah? What did I say then?"

"Something about… Physics?"

"Wrong."

"See! You weren't paying attention!"

"I'll pay attention now!" But then her phone, clutched in her hand, lit up and her eyes darted back to it.

"Who are you texting?" Bellamy asked, trying to peer over her shoulder to read the screen, to no avail as she pulled it further away from him. 

"No one," she said quickly, slipping the phone into her coat pocket.

"No one." 

"Yep."

"So you've been texting _no one_ the past ten minutes—"

"And ignoring us!"

"I think we got it," Monty said, patting Jasper's shoulder to get him to settle down. They started to bicker between them, eventually getting distracted from the original topic of conversation and wandering away from Bellamy and Clarke. She scowled at their departing figures.

"So…" Bellamy said, knocking his shoulder against hers playfully, looking over at her, "who is it?"

"Who says it's someone?"

"Because I saw a name."

"Haven't you ever heard of privacy?"

"No, what's that?"

In spite of herself, she started to smile. Blushing, and secretive, she leaned closer to Bellamy, lowering her voice. "Her name is Lexa. We met during that stupid party I had to go to with my mom in Polis."

He arched an eyebrow. "The one where you kept texting me to rescue you from?"

"That's an exaggeration."

"I have fifteen texts that say otherwise."

"Well, maybe if you _had_ rescued me, then there wouldn't be fifteen texts. Did you ever think about that?"

"But then you wouldn't have picked up _Lexa_ ," he said, adding a singsongy effect on her name.

"I didn't pick her up," she said. "She picked me up, I guess."

"Is that you bragging?"

"It's just a fact!"

He chuckled, holding the door open for them as they filed after other students outside. Immediately, she felt the icy air with a sudden sharpness and burrowed into her coat. Bellamy stepped closer and she felt a wave of appreciation for him. It did little to stave off the cold, but he was an extra barrier against the wind. 

Even with his proximity, she almost missed his next question. "Are you seeing her?"

She shrugged, the slight movement hard to notice under her coat. "We're just talking. She lives in Polis and she's leaving for college next year. It's not serious."

"That doesn't matter. It could still be serious."

"I don't know anything about that now," she said, finding it hard to look up at him. It was weird to talk about her love life with him. "It's only been like, three weeks."

Bellamy made a non-committal sound. "So you're saying I shouldn't prepare a speech for your wedding right now?"

She shoved him, flushing, laughing. "Who says you're getting invited?"

"I'm crashing it. I forgot to tell you."

"Shut up," she said, shaking her head. "And stop moving, please. I'm trying not to die from this cold."

"Yes, Your Highness," he said mockingly, but he stood still for the rest of the drill, and she huddled close, feeling warmer than she had before.

*

**(THE COMMERCIALIZATION OF HOLIDAYS.)**

Clarke was so fucking nervous. 

She had never been this nervous for anything before, not when her parents had told her she was going to be on stage with them for her father's awards speech, or when she had to give a speech for a pep rally, or even when she had decided to tell her mom that she was bi. 

Then again, she reasoned, this was a big deal. After weeks of talking, Lexa had finally asked her out, and tonight was their first date. Yeah, it was Valentine's Day and that only upped the pressure, but that was better than nothing, right? It was better to overcome the nerves than to have Lexa cancel the date. Not that she even knew if Lexa _would_ do something like that, since she was probably the _most_ aloof person she'd ever known and it was impossible to glean anything from her. It'd taken _two weeks_ just to get an exclamation point out of her messages.

And now she had to make an _impression_ on her? It was already off to a bad start, given how Clarke had shown up slightly late, the movie she'd suggested they watch was nixed by Lexa and replaced with another that she didn't have any interest in, and their conversation had started and stopped at so many points she wondered if she even knew how to talk at this point. 

"Excuse me," she muttered, standing up to walk past Lexa. "I need to go to the bathroom, I'll be… right back."

Lexa looked at her and nodded. Clarke practically ran out of the theater.

There were still fifteen minutes before previews started ( _why_ had they agreed to meet up so early), so she took her time, checking her reflection, fixing her hair, taking deep breaths, and giving herself a pep talk. (It mostly consisted of _why are you_ nervous _it's just a_ date _you're overthinking things_ as usual.) By the time she exited the bathroom, she felt almost better. 

Still, though, she kept the pep talk on loop as she walked back. (It couldn't hurt.) So focused as she was, Clarke didn't notice where she was going until it was too late, bumping into someone with a loud _oof._

Instantly, the apology was out of her mouth. 

"Jesus, Princess, watch where you're going," they said, and her head snapped up.

" _Bellamy_?"

"Oh, good, you remember."

On instinct, she pinched his arm, causing him to yelp slightly. "Why are you here?"

"Oh, I thought I'd just hang out, steal some popcorn, collect some—ouch! What?" He was smirking, crossing his arms across his chest. "I'm on a date."

"Wh—what?"

He repeated it.

"No," she said, absolutely thrown off still, "I heard you." Her mouth felt dry. "But I didn't—know you were… _seeing_ anyone. Why didn't you say anything?"

"I'm not. Seeing anyone, I mean," he said, smiling pleasantly at her, like this was a regular conversation that wasn't completely, completely weird for her. 

She looked at him. "How does that work?"

He sighed. "Do you remember Jasper's freak out last week?"

"I think I missed that."

"It was right after pre-calc."

"I was getting the roses delivered for the fundraiser, remember?"

"Oh yeah," he said, remembering. "So you have no idea that Jasper actually managed to not only ask Maya out—"

"Are you serious?"

" _And_ have her say yes."

"Are you _serious_?" She tilted her head at him. "Wait, how is this related?"

"I'm getting there. Apparently he was too nervous to take her on a date alone and Maya's friend, Mel, was looking for a date so… here I am." Bellamy made a face at her and she started laughing. She felt her stomach settle, the weird anxious confusion dissipate. He wasn't on a _date_. Not a _real_ one, at least. Even if he was, that would be fine—it'd just been really weird not knowing that he was. 

"You're _such_ a good friend," she said, happily, knocking her arm against his. "That's probably the nicest thing I've ever heard."

"Don't make a big deal out of this," he warned, and she nodded, feeling the corners of her mouth quirk up despite her best effort. Bellamy sighed, but gave up pretending he cared, instead looking around and behind her. "Isn't Lexa supposed to be here?"

At the mention of Lexa, she tensed up again. "She's waiting for the movie to start. I'm, I should be getting back." But she made no move to do so. Although she'd dispelled her worries before, they all came crashing back now. It clearly showed on her face, because Bellamy's expression turned into that brand of concern she'd realized was more Bellamy Blake than the facade he put up.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said miserably, but soon relented. "Everything! Everything's going badly. I'm a _horrible_ date! I don't know how to talk about anything and she totally thinks I'm boring and stupid and I know she's just wondering why she even asked me out and we have to see this horror film that sounds _awful_ because she said she really hated superhero movies, which, yeah, who doesn't, but I thought it'd be _fun,_ but—"

Bellamy reached out to grab her shoulders, anchoring her to one spot. "Breathe." She did. "And again." She did it again. "Did she say that? That you were… boring and stupid and everything else?"

"No."

"Then it's not true."

"It could be true."

"It's not. Trust me."

She met his eyes and nodded. Slowly, the mantra came back into her head, _you're overthinking things_ as usual. "Okay. Sorry about that."

He let go of her and stuck his hands into his pockets, shrugging. "Don't worry about it. Are you really seeing a scary movie for Valentine's Day?"

"It's like… one of those tasteful ones? Artsy, I mean."

"Still. A horror movie."

"I guess."

He chuckled. "Very romantic."

"Ugh," she pushed at him, flushing with indignation at his tone, "go back to your date."

"I will if you will."

"I will!" 

But she waited until he left first, watching him throw a hand up in a goodbye, before she walked back to her theater, feeling at least a little more confident than before.

*

**(SPRING BREAK.)**

She wasn't having fun. That was really the simple point of it. What was supposed to be a fun beach trip had just simply turned out to be _not fun._ Clarke could’ve blamed the cold weather (they hadn’t planned it well) or the company (more people had shown up than she realized, which was made worse when Lexa had sent her a last minute text saying she couldn’t make it), but really, when you got down to the root of it, it was because Bellamy wasn’t here. 

He was _supposed_ to be, but then his mom had called to tell him that she had to go to work suddenly, which meant no one was home to take care of a sick Octavia. There had been no hesitation for Bellamy to agree, sending a text to let Clarke know about the change of plans and another one telling her to have fun. Which she'd _tried_ to follow, but it was hard when she wished she wasn't here.

That feeling further heightened once Dax Shephard started shouting at some other beach-goers, ten seconds away from provoking a fight. 

Wincing, Clarke turned around in search of Harper and found her sitting with Monty by their claimed area, their eyes catching on each other's as they shared a look that said something like _can you believe this shit._ Sighing heavily, she dropped down next to her, tossing a look of disdain over at Dax and his friends. "Who invited him?"

"It has to be Murphy," Harper said, grimacing at the shouts that grew louder by the second. "No one else would've."

"I _knew_ we shouldn't have brought him along."

"Why _did_ we?" Monty chimed in, tossing Clarke a can of Coke. She held onto it, but didn't open it. 

"Bellamy," she said. "Well, he overheard Bellamy talking about the trip. It's not really his fault. And now here we are."

"It sucks he couldn't come," Harper sighed.

"Yeah," she agreed, wondering how he was doing, if he was stressing himself out about Octavia or if he was relaxing at all. She wondered, too, if he was thinking about them. "I bet he's having more fun than we are."

“It’s not _that_ bad,” her friend said, a blush rising to her cheeks, shyly glancing at Monty in an act that Clarke—or anyone—could hardly miss. Okay, she thought, and made a note to follow up on _that_ later. 

“I’ve been having fun,” Monty added, even though he was looking back at Harper in a way that made Clarke wonder if he even remembered she was still there. So _definitely_ check up on that.

But she had enough tact to leave it alone for now. Besides, the noise from Dax's group was getting louder, more disruptive, and it was the last straw.

"I think I'm going to go," she announced, dusting off the sand from her clothes.

"Home?"

Picking up her bag, she shrugged. "Yeah. Will you guys be okay?" 

"We'll be fine." She believed that.

"Of course."

With a wave, she said goodbye to Monty and Harper, already halfway into another conversation with each other. Clarke smiled to herself and made her way out of the groups of people, escaping Dax's attention, thankfully, and found her car, parked a ways away from the beach. Once she climbed inside, she felt instantly better, distanced from the noise and suffocation behind her. 

She called Bellamy a second later.

He picked up the call on the first ring, voice deep over the line, "Having fun?"

"If I was, do you think I'd be calling you?"

"I'm insulted, I think."

"It's not an insult," she said, but added, "I think."

“That’s comforting to know,” he said dryly. “Why aren’t you having fun? Was the date _that_ bad?”

"What?" Then she remembered. "Oh, no. Lexa couldn't make it." Considering that she’d wanted her to meet her friends, it’d been a little more than disappointing.

"She stood you up?" There was an edge to his voice and she kicked herself for it. Ever since Valentine's Day, even though her date had ended much better than it started, Bellamy had made it clear that he didn't quite like Lexa. He never said it, but Clarke didn't need words to know that.

"No one _says_ that anymore, Bellamy."

"I think people still say that."

"They do not."

"Are you trying to deflect from the point here?"

"Maybe. But she didn't. Something came up and she let me know beforehand." About five minutes after she had left for the beach but for technicality's sake, Lexa _had_ told her.

"Oh," he said, just like that. "Sorry about that."

She waved a hand to dismiss it even though he couldn't see her. "You won't _believe_ who's here, though."

"Vice Principal Sydney?"

"No. Why would she be here?"

"I was trying to think of the most unbelievable person possible."

"Well. It's not her. It's _Dax._ And his whole group of people."

"He goes out?"

"That's what I said!"

"I didn't realize he knew how to behave in public."

"Oh, he doesn't," she informed him, quite gravely.

His voice took on a serious tint. "Did he do something? Are you okay?"

She smiled. "Yes, _mom._ I'm fine. I'm keeping a very good distance from him."

"While plotting your revenge?"

"Would I do that?"

Wryly, he said, "I think you've forgotten that I know you and can actually see through that angelic face you put on, Clarke."

"I _knew_ I shouldn't have told you about that Halloween costume," she gasped. "You said you wouldn't use it against me."

"I never agreed to that."

"It was _implied_."

"Whoops."

"I hate you," she said, very much a lie. She played with the steering wheel, pulling at the leather, as her voice dropped its humor. "How's Octavia feeling?"

His answer came in a sigh. "She's finally sleeping. It's the flu, I think."

"Is she drinking fluids?"

"Some."

"She should drink some more."

"It's very hard to tell O what to do."

"Do you want me to bring you an IV? I bet my mom has one lying around the house." She was only partly joking. There were a lot of things she wouldn't put past Abigail Griffin. 

"As lovely as that gesture is," he said, mostly dry, almost sincere, "it's okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." He paused. "Hey, you should get off the phone and go have some fun."

"I told you. I can't. Dax?" Besides, she was having a better time sitting in her car, talking on the phone with Bellamy than she had the entire four hours she'd spent on the beach. It didn't stand to reason that if she went back, she'd suddenly start having fun. 

"You can ignore him. And Monty and Harper are still there, aren't they?"

Clarke started to giggle. “I don’t really want to play third wheel any longer.”

“What do you mean? Did something finally happen?”

That stopped her short. “Excuse me, _finally_?”

She could practically hear the eye roll. “Just because you’ve just clued in doesn’t mean the rest of us haven’t seen the signs already.”

“Hey! Why didn’t you say anything then?”

“I thought it was a thing we weren’t talking about.” He sounded too amused for her own good. “You really didn’t know until now?”

“No!” She replied, grumbling. “It wasn’t obvious.”

“If that makes you feel better…”

“It’s the truth!”

Sensing it was a losing battle to keep haggling over this, Bellamy widely moved on. “All right, but regardless, they’re not the type to make you a third wheel.”

"You're right," she said, "but I'm still not doing it."

"Clarke."

" _Bellamy_."

"You can't honestly expect me to believe that you'd rather be on the phone than enjoying your day on the beach. The day you were so excited for!" 

"Well, you should believe it."

"Right."

"Look," she finally said, frustrated by his inability to grasp her words, "I wasn't having any fun because you weren't here, okay? I'm not going to suddenly have fun now even if I ignore Dax and do whatever it is you think I should be doing."

She hadn't intended saying that to shut him up, but it worked nonetheless. His voice was very quiet when he spoke again. "Really?"

"Yeah," she said, struck with a sense of nervousness she didn't quite like. "Don't be weird."

"I'm _not_ ," he scoffed, but there clung an air of discomfort between them, through the phone, across the distance. Bellamy cleared his throat a few times. "Are you going home then?"

"Probably."

"Oh."

"What?"

"Just—well, if you don't want to go home just yet, you could…" He trailed off for a moment, seemingly struggling with words, "I'm getting some Thai and I can't eat it all by myself."

He could probably hear her smile in her voice. "Do you want some company?"

"Yeah, if you want," he said, breezily one way and relieved in another. "You know…"

"Yeah?"

"I—missed you."

"Me too," she said, biting her lip to stop herself from grinning even wider. At least she was alone. At least no one could see how embarrassing she was being. "I want drunken noodles."

"Like I'd forget."

*

**(HOME FOR SUMMER.)**

"Yes, mom, I'll be fine," Clarke intoned for the fifth time that call. "I _have_ done this before, you know. No, Jaha left very specific instructions like he promised he would. Yes, I have the keys. _Yes,_ I'll be there for your thing on Friday." And so it went on, for at least ten more excruciating minutes, filled with questions from Abby about something Clarke had already told her the answer to, eyerolls, probably from both sides, and raised voices that were hard to avoid in an Abby-Clarke conversation. Once her mom was finally satisfied—or, more likely, distracted by some pressing matter associated with the campaign—Clarke ended the call and looked up, letting the popcorn ceiling steer her away from the annoyance she felt. 

More than anything, Clarke hated being treated like a kid. Jaha had asked her to housesit while he visited Wells in England, like he had done last year, and, in her haste to get away from her own house—which was now Griffin for Mayor headquarters—she had accepted it with an eagerness that was less about the extra responsibility and more about the getaway. 

At least it was on the lake. That was the whole appeal of the gig. Thelonius Jaha had the best house on the lake, overlooking the water in the prettiest view she’d ever seen. Sure, her mother was probably going to become mayor, but did she have this _view?_ Especially where she was at right now, in front of Jaha’s big floor-to-ceiling living room windows, where she could see the bright blue of the sky and the sun’s light reflecting on the water and the boats setting sail (only four, but it was early in the day still) and—

She yanked the window open and caught him right before he passed by. “Bellamy!”

He stopped at the sound of her voice. As he neared, Bellamy looked up and around. "So when you said the biggest house on the lake, you really meant…"

"The biggest house on the lake? Yeah," she said, smirking a little. "Hi."

"Hey," he said back. "Are you going to talk through the window?"

"I _could_ ," she said, but she'd already moved back, closing the window, and going for the door, meeting him outside a moment later. Bellamy looked like he'd been in the sun a lot lately, his freckles more numerous and noticeable than ever, and he'd gotten a haircut in the week and a half they hadn't seen each other. It stood out in curls around his face. It looked good.

She chased the urge to tell him. "I like your haircut."

Predictably, Bellamy flushed from the compliment. Shyly, and a little gruffly, he shrugged, "It was about time." And, "Thanks," almost as an afterthought. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he peered upwards. "So this is where the illustrious Principal Jaha lives?"

"The one and only."

"Somehow I pictured it like this."

"You pictured where he lived?"

"I was curious!"

"And weird."

"Not all of us have summer jobs housesitting for their principal slash family friend and already know the answer."

She couldn't argue with that. "Do you want to come inside?"

He looked apprehensive at the thought. "Into Jaha's house?"

"No, into Mrs. Grayson's house next door," she said sarcastically.

"Ha ha."

"You asked a dumb question!"

"It'd be weird," he informed her, quite matter-of-factly. "That's Jaha's house. I don't want to know how the principal lives."

"Okay, but have you considered the fact that Jaha isn't here this summer? So it's kind of like a random person's house that I'm looking after."

"Some random person named Jaha."

"What a coincidence."

"Nice try. You won't be able to get me in there no matter what you do."

“Have I ever told you that you’re the most annoying person I know?”

“All the time. I’ve learned to tune it out by now.”

“Funny, that’s what I do with everything you say,” she shot back, before making a big show of sighing and locking the door behind her. “You’re missing out on Jaha’s library, just so you know.”

She saw a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, but ultimately, he stayed firm. “I’ll live.”

“And his collection of those Russian dolls that stack over the other.”

“Of _course_ he’s into matryoshkas.”

“ _And_ the axe he keeps mounted on the wall.”

“Okay, one of these is a lie.”

“But which one? You’ll never know.”

“Oh no,” he said, completely deadpan, without even a look back, “what will I do.”

“Just live with the knowledge, I guess. Hey, where are we going?” Without protesting, she’d followed Bellamy as he led her away from Jaha’s, winding down the stone path and towards the lake.

He turned left and gestures ahead. “To my car. I got you something.”

Delighted, she said, “But my birthday isn’t until October!”

“Don’t worry, this isn’t meant to replace that.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

A snort. They reached the car and he opened the side door, rummaging around in a bag until he pulled what he wanted from it and tossed it at her without any warning. It hit her in the face and landed neatly in her arms. “What is this?” She asked, while unfolding the item, finding a t-shirt with the words, golden, emblazoned on the black background: GRIFFIN FOR MAYOR. Unimpressed, she held it up against her chest. “How does it look?”

“Like you’re going to be the daughter of the mayor.”

She groaned and threw the shirt back at him, hoping to hit him in the face as well, but he prevented her plans, catching it swiftly.

“You don’t like it?” He said, mostly teasing. He’d been party to her complaints ever since Abby had announced her plans to run in the spring; there was probably nothing he hadn’t heard at this point.

“The path to my room is currently a war zone, Bellamy,” she said, crossing her arms sullenly. “I spent the last week making cold calls. I had to pretend I had cramps to get out of it.”

“So I should cancel that zeppelin banner?”

“I really hate you.”

He laughed and tossed the shirt back into his car. “I’m kidding. I only got it because I got stuck behind one of her rallies one day. And if it helps, I’ll pretend you’re just regular Clarke.”

“As opposed to…”

“First Daughter Clarke.”

“All right, I like you again.”

“Good.” He pointed back towards the general vicinity of the house. “How long are you here again?”

"Until August. Then London for the rest of the month to see Wells."

"The missing Jaha."

"He's just in another country, he's not missing."

"He's not _here,_ is he?"

She smacked his arm. "How are you handling Octavia and your mom being away?"

He scowled and rubbed at his arm, even though she knew he was just playing it up. "Most people would just ask how their trip is going, not how _I'm_ faring."

"But I know the trip is going well," she said simply, smiling at him. "And I know you so I know the whole not having anyone to take care of thing is hard for you."

Bellamy said nothing for a long time, just leaned back against his car, squinting against the sun. Quietly, she walked over to stand next to him, her arm brushing against his as she joined him in silence. Finally: "It's not as bad as I thought it'd be. And they're having fun. They just saw Niagara Falls."

"Overrated," she said immediately.

A bit of a smile spread from the corner of his mouth. "So you've been saying." He looked over at her. "You're coming to Miller's tonight, right?"

"I'll stop by, but I can't stay."

"Why not?"

"Lexa—" His smile slipped. "We're going to a poetry reading of her friend's."

"You hate poetry," he said.

"I don't _hate_ it," she said uneasily, wishing she hadn't brought this up in the first place. Nothing good ever happened when they talked about Lexa. "I'm trying something new. And she wants to be supportive. And so do I!"

“Great for her,” he said, somehow sounding like he meant the opposite, “but do _you_ even want to go?”

 _No,_ she thought. 

“Yes,” she said, jutting her chin out in defiance, the way she got when she felt the prickly defensiveness rear its ugly, stubborn head. Why did he even _care?_

“Even though you hate poetry.”

“I just said that I don’t _hate_ it.”

“It’s the only thing you won’t read.”

“But I won’t be reading it. I’ll be listening to it.”

“Which makes such a big difference.”

“I think it does,” she said with a huff. “Okay, so it’s not my absolute _favorite_ thing in the world, but it’ll be fine. It’s not worth it to make a big deal out of it. And maybe I’ll become a convert! And soon enough, you’ll have to come along and hear my poetry.” The last bit she added to defuse the tension, but it didn’t work. Bellamy had now turned to her with his arms crossed.

“That’s what you said last time.” His voice took on a higher pitch, in an attempt to be the worst imitation of her on this planet. “I know I said hiking is God’s way of showing he wants us to suffer, but—”

“I don’t sound like that,” she interjected, “and I ended up having fun.”

“Weren’t you texting us the entire time that you were going to die?”

“I thought we bumped into a gorilla!” It was, in fact, not a gorilla, or a bear, or anything but a shadow cast badly in the corner of her eye, but the fear had been real. She didn’t think she should be blamed for that. “ _You_ try being calm in that situation.” 

Unwilling to get sidetracked, he continued, “What about when you guys went to the book signing? For that author you hate but she loves? And your first date was a movie _she_ wanted to see—”

"What's your point?" She snapped. "I know you have a problem with her, but—"

"I don't have a problem with _her,_ " he said, which was probably the stupidest lie she'd heard all month. “I _do_ have a problem with how you're completely different _around_ her."

"That's not true," she said, but she heard how weak it sounded and hated herself for it. It _wasn't_ true. She was the same person around Lexa as she was around Monty or Harper or Jasper or Miller or Bellamy. The more she thought about it, the more she felt indignant, insulted. "How would you even know? You've never seen me with her."

"Aside from all the examples I _just_ listed, we _notice_ things _._ Literally everyone has noticed. Fuck, even Murphy has. When was the last time you talked about doing something with her that _you_ wanted to do? Why does it always feel like you're pretending to be someone else?" Bellamy said, in disbelief. Her stomach twisted in anger as she soaked in his words. "And don't you think that's indicative of the problem? You won't even introduce your girlfriend to us? It's been four months and none of us have even met her."

"I'm not _hiding_ her from you," she said, voice angry and uncontrolled as she pushed away from the car—like keeping some distance from Bellamy would calm her down. It didn't. It just made it worse, seeing him look at her like he _knew_ something, like he had her all figured out. She fucking hated that look. "Even if I _was,_ that's my choice. Maybe I don't want her to meet someone who'll only judge her like you do. But for the record, I _have_ wanted her to meet you guys. Of course I want all of you to meet! But she's been really busy lately, you know, since she's about to head off to college in a few months. There's a lot of shit she has to do and it's not any of your business to demand anything."

"It's not a demand—"

"It _absolutely_ is. Why do you want to meet her, Bellamy? So you can say, god, Clarke, she isn't good enough for you, like you'd know better than me?"

He looked like he wanted to say exactly that. But he didn't. He said, practically through gritted teeth, "I'm just trying to look out for you, Clarke."

"Well, stop," she commanded, intentionally, and angry with herself for doing it even as she was doing it, putting on that tone of voice Bellamy liked to call her _debutante voice_ (despite the fact that she had never been a debutante, but that was neither here nor there), "You don't need to look after me. I'm not your sister, Bellamy. Or your mother. Or anyone else you've decided to big brother. I can take care of myself."

His eyes flashed and a second later, he was biting out a response, a terse, furious, "Fine."

"Fine!"

He slammed the car door shut, the noise startling the birds that were traipsing along the cobblestone path, dispersing them into the air. She hadn't even realized the door was still open. "I'm going to Miller's," he said, not making eye contact with her, and it was so _infuriating_ of him that she wished she had a car door to slam too. "Have fun listening to the poetry that you've _always_ loved."

"I _will_ ," she said, because she had always been too stubborn for her own good. "It's more fun than sitting there watching you guys geek out over Dungeons and Dragons! I'm not stopping by!"

"Good," he retorted, walking away, his voice getting further from her as he left, "You'd only bring the party down!"

It wasn't until he had disappeared from sight that she noticed the sharp sting of angry tears in her eyes. Clarke started to laugh, bitter and furious, wondering what the hell had just happened.


	2. PART TWO.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> summer loving had me a blast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO UPDATE. honestly, i was just being lazy.

**II.**

**(SUMMERTIME IS IN OUR HANDS.)**

She really did hate poetry. Bellamy was right about that. She hated it even more listening to it, or at least listening to these people recite it. Clarke listened attentively and applauded at all the right moments, but it dragged on the entire night, and unfortunately, she couldn't stop herself from thinking back to the fight with Bellamy and the party at Miller's and wishing she was there instead of here.

"You're quiet tonight," Lexa remarked, turning to her finally. They were waiting for the next set to start and Clarke found herself looking at nothing in particular. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

She plastered on a fake smile. "Of course! Nyko is very talented."

This placated her, or at least, seemed to, because she didn't press further. Inexplicably, this made Clarke frown. It wasn't like she was even trying to make her smile look genuine. Shouldn't Lexa have realized that? Traitorously, Bellamy's words came back to her.

_When was the last time you talked about doing something with her that you wanted to do? Why does it always feel like you're pretending to be someone else?_

Swallowing back her instinctual desire to ignore it, she cleared her throat, gathering Lexa's attention again. "I actually don't like poetry that much," she said, and it felt nice to tell her that.

Lexa lifted an eyebrow at her. "Really? Why not?"

"It's just… never been something I've liked."

"Have you tried?"

"What?"

Explaining, rather slowly, she thought, "I didn't like poetry either. I thought it was too accessible, trite, even. But then I really sat and listened to some poetry and realized that I had been very wrong about it. I just needed to take the time to sit with it."

"I've tried that," she said, in lieu of saying something like _too accessible?_

"But _have_ you?" Lexa asked, air of challenge in it. "Now, even?"

Had she noticed? "Maybe not," she said. "I don't think it'll make much of a difference though."

"That's all right."

She stopped short. "Sorry?"

"If you don't like poetry, then I understand." She smiled briefly, a rare occurrence, but one that made Clarke feel like she'd achieved something spectacular. "I don't care if you don't like it. But I think you will, eventually."

She didn't know how to take that, but it _sounded_ nice, so she smiled back. Lexa did have a point. Clarke hadn't exactly been giving it a chance, had she? She'd just been stewing in her anger over Bellamy and her bias against poetry in general—she'd barely recalled what the poetry she'd just listened to had even been about. The least she could do was _try._

"I might," she agreed, stirring her teacup absently. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I've been a bad date. And I've been in a bad mood all night, which isn't fair to you, so… sorry."

Lexa observed her again, a calculating glance passing over her. She did that a lot, like she was weighing some new information in her head before adjusting them to fit the person in front of her. It was always interesting to watch her do that to someone, but it was less so when it was pointed at her. "Has something happened?"

Clarke hesitated. But it spilled out of her with the eagerness of someone who just _had_ to talk about it because it would eat her up otherwise. "I had a fight with Bellamy. It was—" No, she couldn't tell her exactly _what_ it was about. It wasn't true and it would just put Lexa on the defensive, as if Clarke was attacking her. "Nothing, really, but we said stupid things to each other and he hasn't apologized and I _won't,_ because it wasn't my fault, but we haven't fought like that since, well, since we met and it's awful. I _feel_ awful."

"If it isn't your fault," she began, "why should you feel awful?"

"I—" Bemused, she found her voice again. "Because I hurt his feelings."

"But he hurt yours more?"

"I don't know about _more,_ but—"

"You care a lot."

"We're friends."

"That doesn't mean you can't be angry with him."

"But I _am_ angry with him."

"While you feel awful too?"

"It's not exactly mutually exclusive, Lexa," she said, puzzled that she had to say this to her. "I can be furious with him but still think I was shitty to him in return."

"I see," she said, but it didn't feel like she did. "Then I'm sure he'll apologize soon. He _is_ in the wrong."

"Yeah." An uncomfortable feeling settled over her and it took a long moment for her to brush it away. "But probably not tonight."

"Why not?"

"He's at our friend Miller's party."

"Your friends seem to have a lot of those."

"It's the summer," she pointed out, a little defensively in reaction to Lexa's tone. "And it's not that much. It's not _really_ a party, either, just a group of people hanging out."

"Do you wish you were there?"

It was better to be honest. "A little. But I like being here with you. Even if it's to listen to poetry."

Lexa made a noise of acknowledgement. “Good.”

"But," she said quickly, before they moved on, as she knew they would soon, given how the rest of the room was clamoring for the next act, "speaking of parties… a girl in my grade, Fox, she’s having a birthday party next week and everyone is invited and—would you come with me?"

"It's your friend's birthday?"

"I don't know if I'd call her a friend. I don't really know her that well."

"But you'll go to her birthday party?"

" _Everyone_ goes to Fox’s birthday party," she laughed. "She invites the entire school."

"And that's… fun?"

Luckily, she was getting used to Lexa's thought process. "Come on," she wheedled, "it _will_ be fun. It usually is."

"I don't do _parties,_ Clarke," Lexa said, severe and scoffing. This she had heard more than once before.

“I know that,” she said, patient despite the surge of irritation at her tone. “But just this once? My friends will be there and I’d really like you to meet them.” Unbidden, Bellamy’s words came back to her and she almost made a face. “And they want to meet you too!”

This didn't appear to sway her any. "They are welcome at any of Anya's readings."

"That's nice," she said, picturing Jasper at one and wincing at the trouble that would cause. "But it wouldn't be a good place to, you know, _meet_ for the first time."

"Neither would a party for a girl I don't know."

"Please? It’ll be so chill. Super low key. I really, really want to introduce you to them." _And prove Bellamy wrong,_ her brain unhelpfully added. "You'll like them, I know you will, they're really cool and nice and they love meeting new people," (this was not exactly true, but she would make them be on their best behavior), "and I really think they think I'm making you up at this point so if you come with me, you'd actually be _saving_ me."

"Clarke," she sighed, that slip of noise that sounded so disappointed that she ended up recalibrating her tone. It resulted in a smaller, more uncertain voice than before.

Her hands twisted together. "It's just one party, Lexa. And it'd mean a lot to me."

It took another few minutes before Lexa spoke, “All right. I’ll go.”

She grinned, feeling the relief slide off her back. _See,_ she thought, smug and righteous, as if Bellamy was here and could witness this himself, _you’re wrong._

*

**(SUMMER'S ALMOST GONE, OR THE MOMENT I KNEW.)**

“Are you nervous?”

"No." Lexa continued to check her makeup in the mirror.

"Oh. I'm nervous."

"They're your friends," she said, without breaking her concentration. "Why are you nervous?"

She wasn't sure. She'd already told everyone to be on their best behavior and she knew they would, but that knowledge did nothing to dispel the ball of nervous energy currently swirling in her stomach. "I just am," she answered. "They'll like you. Don't worry."

"I'm _not_ worrying," Lexa pointed out, unbuckling her seatbelt and opening the car door. "Are we going in or not?"

They'd better. From their vantage point, parked a few blocks down from Monroe's house, they could see the swarms of people heading into her house. If they stayed out here any longer, it would get way too crowded. She never knew _how_ it was that Fox Culver managed to host a birthday party like this every year without her parents caring because if Clarke had wanted to do anything like this, there was no way Abby would've let that happen, especially in their house, but it was always a good time. 

It took more than ten minutes to make their way through the front of the house, three more to find Harper and Monty, by the TV, and then another to make the introductions. Jasper made his way towards them a little while later, in the midst of a stilted conversation about botany and cartography (no, Clarke wasn’t sure how those two intersected either), and then it was slightly awkward when Jasper’s enthusiasm ran up against Lexa’s stoic demeanor. (Later, she apologized to Jasper, reassuring him that he’d done nothing wrong, it was only that Lexa's sense of humor was rather… particular.) 

The meeting with Miller was brief and she wisely decided to avoid Murphy altogether. That made it everyone she wanted to introduce to Lexa, which had gone no worse than she imagined, though not as well as she hoped. 

Well, everyone except—

"Where's Bellamy?" Clarke blurted out, looking around in confusion. No, they still weren't talking, but Miller had said that Bellamy _would_ be here and she thought she'd seen him earlier, or someone whose back of their head looked remarkably _like_ Bellamy's…

“He’s around here somewhere. Maybe by the kitchen?” Miller offered, unconcerned, before he left to track down his boyfriend.

“Oh,” she said, disgruntled. Was he _avoiding_ her? He wasn’t allowed to do that. If anything, _she_ should be the one doing all the avoiding. “Whatever. It’s fine.” Clarke looked over at Lexa, giving her an encouraging smile. She inclined her head, looking up from her phone. “Well, that went well!”

She’d paused in the middle of typing something. “Were you expecting it not to?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I’m just glad you like them.”

Lexa made a noise that was indicative of nothing. “They’re quite…” Lexa searched for a word and the longer she went without one, the more Clarke’s smile dropped, curving into a frown, “...unique.” 

“What does that mean?”

“What else can it mean?”

“I don’t know,” she said slowly, warily. “You said it like… like it was a bad thing.”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” she said, which didn’t exactly make her feel differently about how she’d interpreted it, but it was some reassurance, at least.

“Okay. Maybe we can—”

Lexa’s phone lit up between them and she held it up, “Sorry, Clarke, I have to take this.”

She nodded and watched her head outside, in search of a quieter place to take the call. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Clarke spotted Harper going into the kitchen and wove her way through, catching up to her in front of the drink table.

“Hi!” She said, making Harper jump and then laugh before placing her cup back on the table.

“This is a new dress, you know!”

“A new dress? For a birthday party? Who could you be trying to impress?”

“Myself,” she answered, with only a hint of a blush on her cheeks. Although Harper and Monty were trying to downplay whatever was going on between them, they hadn’t exactly been secretive about it, and even if Clarke hadn’t caught on before (and everyone else before that), it wasn’t hard to miss. She came closer and whispered, “We went to a movie before this.”

“A movie? That sounds like a date,” she teased, squirreling out of Harper’s way when she tried to smack her arm.

“Shut up,” she said, pouting. “Not everyone is securely in a relationship like _you_ are.”

"Oh, be quiet," she groaned, nudging her in the elbow. Harper giggled and picked her cup back up, taking a long gulp. “Hey Harper?”

“Yes?”

The words felt heavy on her tongue. “What do you think of Lexa?”

Harper peered at her over the rim of her cup. “I don’t really think anything of Lexa. I just met her.”

“Yeah, but,” she pressed, “what did you think about her from that?”

She shrugged in answer. “I don’t know. She seems… nice. She doesn’t talk a lot.”

“No, she’s… shy,” she said, but that didn’t sound right at all. Lexa was the least shy person she knew. The first time they’d met, she’d gotten into a debate with a stranger over the trucking industry. And she never held back on her opinions around Clarke or any of her own friends. But there was no denying the fact that she had been uncharacteristically quiet tonight.

“She’s meeting new people!” Harper said. “It’s hard enough when it’s strangers, but when it’s your girlfriend’s friends, I’m sure it’s a lot harder.”

She’d never been more grateful for that positivity that Harper always carried around. “You’re right. Thanks.” But it still felt weird. Hesitantly, she continued, “Can I ask you something else?”

“Um, yeah,” she said, giving her a confused look. 

“Do you think that—” she started, then stopped. “With me and Lexa, do you think that I’m, I don’t know—”

“I can’t answer you if you don’t actually ask your question, Clarke.”

“I know.” She shook her head, forcing a laugh out. “Never mind! It’s nothing!”

The thing about Harper was that she wasn’t the type of person to push if the other person didn’t want her to so she wasn’t surprised that Harper just looked at her and asked, just once, “Are you sure?”

Clarke wasn’t sure if she wanted Harper to ask or not. “It’s really nothing,” she reiterated. “I’m just thinking about something stupid Bellamy said…”

“About you and Lexa?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sure he meant nothing by it,” Harper said loyally.

“You don’t even know what he said.”

“And whatever it was, I know he means well.”

That told her everything she needed to know. Harper knew exactly what had happened and moreover, believed in it, agreed with it too. “Of _course._ He always means well.”

“Clarke…”

“Do you know where he is?” She wanted to know. “Miller said he's here, but I haven’t seen him.”

Harper bit her lip, looking unsure. “He was in the backyard.”

“Thanks,” she said, turning abruptly on her heel, stopping when Harper called her name.

“Don’t be mad, okay? I know you hate fighting with him and he hates fighting with you too.”

“I’m not fighting with him because I want to.”

“I know, but—”

“Don't worry. I’m just going to talk to him.”

She heard a sigh, but no further objections, so she quickly exited the kitchen and played another round of maze running to get to the backyard. Sure enough, Bellamy was there, standing aside and watching a group of guys set up some fireworks. It was still June, for God’s sake; what were they doing with fireworks?

Bellamy chose that instant to notice her arrival, his eyes catching on hers when he turned to say something to the boy next to him, and freezing once he saw that she was there. She thought she'd feel more satisfaction in his reaction, but seeing him just made her realize that she'd really missed him the past week and that, even though she'd been angry all over again, it had slipped away from her as soon as she saw him. 

Fighting with Bellamy was the worst.

He broke from the group and walked towards her, stopping a few steps away. "Hey," he tried, aiming for aloof and landing on hesitant. 

"Hi," she said back. "I tried to find you earlier."

"You did?"

"Yeah, but..." she waved a hand around, “it's basically a maze in here."

"I was kinda…" he chuckled humorlessly, "...avoiding you."

"Wow. I’m offended."

"Like you weren't avoiding me all last week."

"I wasn't. _You_ were avoiding _me_."

"I was giving you _space_."

"Then so was I."

"You can't just steal my reasoning."

"How do you know that I wasn't going to say it before you did?"

"Because I said it first."

"That doesn't even follow."

"I'm sorry, are we fighting over whether or not we were avoiding each other?"

She saw the ridiculousness of the situation and couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, I think so." 

“Of course.”

Tucking her hair behind her ear, Clarke looked nervously at him. “I wanted you to meet Lexa.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “She’s actually here?”

She wasn't going to be annoyed by his reaction. She wasn't. _"Yes,_ she's actually here." (Okay, she wasn't perfect.) "I told everyone I was bringing her."

"I thought she'd bail," he said, much too honest. "Where is she?"

"She's taking a call," she informed him, refusing to let him see that she was getting worried about Lexa and this long phone call. "Or maybe got lost trying to find me." Bellamy made a skeptical noise. "Don't. I'm still mad at you."

"I didn't even say anything," he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air.

"You made a noise."

"Oh no, a noise."

“Yes, and I know what it meant.”

“It was just a noise. I can’t control it.”

"The fact that you haven't pissed off someone who could beat you up yet is honestly shocking."

"I take that as a compliment."

“ _How_?”

“Because you implied that no one can win in a fight against me.”

“But I win all the time?”

“Hilarious.” He glanced over. “Hey."

She watched Josh Frum, a guy from the grade below them, bring out another box of fireworks to the backyard. “What?"

"I'm sorry about what I said."

She stilled. "About Lexa?"

"About you and Lexa. I don't think I was wrong, but—"

She scowled and glared at him. "That's not an apology."

"I'm not finished." At the absence of a comment, he continued, "I was out of line."

"That's _not_ an apology."

"I won’t take back what I said, but I was wrong to say that to you. I shouldn’t have said it to you." The sky lit up with the first barrage of fireworks, spelling out a birthday message, of course, and she watched it appear and disappear for a few minutes before she decided to say anything. 

"I'm still mad at you," was what she eventually decided on. “And I think that’s a horrible apology.”

"I know," he said simply, but he didn't sound upset about it. "You should be. I was worried, but I know… I know you can take care of yourself. You know I don't think you can't."

"I don’t need you to hover over me."

"I know that too," he chuckled.

"I'm sorry too."

"You don't need to say that."

"I hurt your feelings."

"I deserved it."

"No, you didn’t."

Bellamy grumbled, but accepted it, and although she was still mad and he knew it, and he was still worried and she knew it, they stood there, shoulders touching, watching the firework display illuminate the dark sky. It was almost perfect.

"Yo, Bellamy!" Someone called, running up to him. It was Myles Richardson, who had just graduated a few weeks ago. "You said you'd do the next part!"

"Oh, I don't know…"

"C'mon, dude!"

"Yeah," Clarke chimed in, teasing grin and all, “c’mon, _dude._ You _promised."_

"I didn't promise." She ignored this and nudged him in the side.

"You can't disappoint the masses."

"I think I preferred it when you were mad at me."

"I still am, remember?" She nudged him again. "Go on. I have to go find Lexa. She really might've gotten lost."

His smile dipped a little, but recovered fast enough that she wondered if she had mistaken it. "Now you're a knight in shining armor?"

"Rescuing damsels in distress _is_ my specialty."

He rolled his eyes. "I'll, uh, find you later? You can introduce me to Lexa. I'll be nice. Swear."

The honest truth was that the thought of the two of them meeting made her skin itch, but he was so nice in offering, and she'd met all of her other friends already that she couldn't say _no._ "All right," she said, rather unenthusiastically. "Sounds like a plan. Keep any and all sparklers away from your eyes."

"Damn. You caught me." Myles dragged Bellamy away after that, excitedly chattering his ear off about—Clarke could only catch a bit of it before they were out of range—some podcast he was listening to. Bellamy kept up easily. He was always like that, making friends no matter where he was, and she envied that.

It took a while to find Lexa and in the end, it was more that Lexa found her than the other way around. She noticed something was off right away, if not by the way she was shrouded in a corner, then by the displeasure in her voice. "I've been trying to find you," she said.

"Sorry, I went to talk to Harper and then I ended up out here…"

"You should've told me."

"You were on your phone," she reminded her. "I didn't exactly know where you were."

“I had only stepped out for a few minutes.”

“I’m sorry, Lexa,” she said again, now displeased herself. “I didn't see you around and I wanted to talk to my friends.”

"So you abandoned me in the middle of a party."

"I know and I'm sorry! I just lost track of what I was doing!"

"That I didn't want to attend, if you've forgotten."

"I haven't," she said stiffly. "And I'm really happy you came anyways and I'm here now, so—"

“Never mind. Let’s go.”

Confused, Clarke frowned. “Go where?”

“Let’s _leave._ Gustus was letting me know there’s a bonfire happening at Anya’s and they’re waiting for us.”

“That was your phone call?”

“If we hurry, we’ll only be a little late.”

“But we’re at this party.”

“Yes,” a flicker of annoyance passed over her face, “which is why we have to go.” Lexa jerked her head towards the door, somewhere beyond the mass of people to their right, and waited for her to agree.

“But we’re _here_ ,” Clarke said.

“You’ve already said that.”

“Because you seem to forget that part.”

“We’ve been here long enough—" a body bumped into Lexa, a slurred—and shouting—apology tossed afterwards, “and if I have to spend any more time here surrounded by these people, I may kill them.”

She was probably serious. 

But Clarke was shaking her head.

“You _promised_ to come with me,” she said, attempting to keep her voice level. “That didn’t mean go for an hour and then ditch.”

“Why can’t it mean that?” Lexa directed a death glare at the next person who knocked into them and Clarke decided to move the conversation outside, where there were still people congregated in the yard, but few enough that they had a veil of privacy—and not to mention, fewer opportunities to bump into them. “I’ve met your friends already.”

“We didn’t come here _just_ to meet them. We’re supposed to hang out with them.”

"You didn't say that."

"It doesn't have to be said, Lexa."

"Are you really suggesting that we stay here until this is over?"

"Of course not," she answered, wondering if that had been a real question and not just wilful obstinance. "I don't see what the problem is. I've stayed the entire time whenever I've hung out with _your_ friends."

"That's entirely different."

"How?"

"It just is, Clarke," she said, pinning her with a flinty look. "I’m sure your friends wouldn’t mind if we just left now."

She blinked at her in slow succession. “Why wouldn’t they mind?”

"Would they?"

"Yes. They would. We came to this party to see them."

"And we've seen them, haven't we?"

"You _know_ what I meant. And not everyone," she argued. "You haven't met Bellamy yet."

Lexa sighed, like she was tired of this conversation. "I'll meet him another time. We're already late enough as it is."

In movies, there was always that light bulb moment, that instant when something _clicked_ for someone, when they thought of a solution to a problem or realized some life-changing truth. For Clarke, it was not so much of a lightbulb as it was a laugh: hers, kicking out from her almost involuntarily, followed by words she hated saying, "Bellamy was right." She laughed again, louder. "Damn it. He's never going to let me forget it. God."

"Are you listening to me?"

She was, somewhere in the back of her mind, but in the front of it, she was busy playing back all their dates, every time she'd gone along with what Lexa wanted to do, every time she said nothing about it, every time she'd suggested something and was shot down. Bellamy was right about her. Her friends were right about her. 

Fingers snapped in front of her face, jolting her back to earth. "Clarke."

She found her voice. "Why can't we stay here? Why do we have to go to the bonfire?"

"Because I told Gustus we'd be there."

"Without asking me if I wanted to go?"

"I figured you'd _want_ to. You always do."

Clarke laughed again, more at herself than anything. "Yeah, I always do. But the _second_ I get you to come with me to something I want to do, you're ready to leave?"

"You're acting like I _didn't_ spend any time here," she accused.

"That's basically how it feels! I hang out with your friends _all_ the time! I'm always with them! Even when my friends are doing stuff and I want to be there instead, I’m with you and your friends! You can't even make an effort now to do the same thing with mine?"

It was _nearly_ impossible to make Lexa angry, but apparently _not_ impossible, because she _was_ angry now. "I have two months left here. The last thing I want to do is spend my time with your friends when I could be with mine."

"I'm asking for a few _hours,_ Lexa! I'm not saying you have to spend every day with them!"

"A few hours is longer than I'd want anyways," she scoffed.

Her voice faltered slightly. "You said you liked them."

"I didn't say that," Lexa said, setting her mouth in a straight line. "You just assumed I did."

“That’s… why don’t you like them?” At once, her voice shifted from a timid shock to outraged demand.

“Oh, besides how ridiculous they are? And how rude—”

“ _Rude_?”

“—Crude—”

“The joke wasn’t that bad!”

“Over dramatic—”

“ _Seriously_?”

“And unaware of boundaries—”

"In what way—”

“They’re _beneath_ you, Clarke—”

“What the _hell_ does that mean?”

“Especially Bellamy Blake.”

She was gaping at her, mouth actually dropped, eyes really wide. “How would you even know? You’ve never met him!”

"Do I need to? You've talked about him enough that I have a very clear idea of the kind of person he is."

Sputtering, grasping for words, offended, seething over the accusation, Clarke couldn't get a sense of what she wanted to say. "And what kind of person is he? Go on. I want to know."

Lexa was not the type to back down from anything, even though anyone else would’ve heard the warning in Clarke’s voice and decided otherwise. Maybe she heard it and took it as a point of challenge. “Arrogant, selfish, pedestrian. Not worth your time,” she said.

Behind the sting of the words, Clarke felt a whip of guilt. What had Clarke said to make Lexa think this about Bellamy? _Had_ she said something? Was this her fault?

“He’s none of those things,” she said firmly, an unmistakable edge to her voice. “How could you say that to me?"

"You _asked_."

"So? You didn't have to answer! You weren't supposed to answer!" 

"How was I supposed to know that?"

"Because they're my _friends,_ Lexa! Did you think I would think oh, that's totally fine that you insulted some of my favorite people in the whole world because you're my girlfriend?"

"I'm allowed my own opinions."

"This isn't about that," she said. "It's about—about you, you respecting me enough that you would _try_ for me. _I_ try for you. All the time! I don't like poetry, I don't like debates about philosophy, I don't like silent shows, but I went to them because _you_ liked them." _Because I wanted to be someone else for you,_ she added, the bitter truth of it hard to swallow. Of _course_ Bellamy had to be right when she was going through this.

"Are you _blaming_ me?"

 _"No!"_ She shouted it, the volume attracting the stares of a few passersby who, despite being drunk, couldn't help but pay attention to what was going on. Flushing, she lowered her voice. "How long have you thought this? About my friends."

"For a long time. I _listen_ when you talk."

"And this whole party and meeting them and _not_ meeting them…" She laughed slightly, darkly. "It was a waste of time."

She didn't confirm it, but she didn't deny it either.

"You can go to the bonfire," she continued, staring at Lexa in a new way, almost as if someone had taken over her body and was looking at a complete stranger. "By yourself."

Lexa's mouth pursed in dissatisfaction, but all she said was, "Are we still doing brunch with Anya?"

"Are you _serious_ right now?"

"Never mind," she bit out between gritted teeth, and before Clarke could think of anything to say, before she could even decide whether or not she wanted to stop her, Lexa had already turned on her heel and walked away.

*

**(IT’S BEEN A SUMMER, OR I TOLD YOU SO.)**

"This is the best burger I've ever had in my life."

"It's not _that_ good."

"It is when you're starving. Hey!" Bellamy handed back the bag of fries with a sigh.

"Keep it down, will you? Some people are trying to sleep upstairs." 

She pouted. “I think they’d understand.”

“They would understand you waking them up at 3 AM?”

“Yes. It’s 3 AM. Why are they already asleep? Don’t they know I need their emotional support right now?”

 _“I’m_ still here, you know.”

Clarke took another bite of her burger and reached over to pat his hand. “You’ve heard enough of my laments tonight.”

Easily, he said, "No, it's fine," but she stayed silent, picking at the wrapper of her burger, before—

"It's not fair that _she_ broke up with _me!_ I was the one who was mad!" She remembered the text, which she'd deleted an hour ago in the fit of rage she'd experienced after finishing reading it: _Let's break up. Lexa._ Lexa, she'd signed off, like she hadn't known it was her, like she could've confused not only the sender, but the topic of the message without that identifier. Let's break up, before you do the same to me. "I should've been the one to do it! There are rules for these things!"

"There are rules?"

"There are rules," she confirmed, shaking her hand with the burger in it at him. He grimaced. “And one of them is that the person at _fault_ doesn’t get to do the breaking up. They have to wait for the other person to do it!”

“Why didn’t you do it first?”

“I was giving us a chance to cool down.”

“Right.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Bellamy said, right before he tossed his wrapper into the bag. 

She decided to ignore it. 

It didn’t last long.

Suspiciously, she asked, “Why haven’t you said I told you so?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “I didn’t know Lexa would turn out to be the kind of person who would insult your friends and think nothing was wrong with doing so. I’m not _that_ perceptive.”

"You are _so_ annoying," she said fervently, while he smirked. "You know exactly what I mean. You were _right_ about me being a different person with her. You get to say I told you so."

"It's not fun anymore." 

"Why not?"

"Because you're sad," he said, not frowning, but not smiling either. 

"I am _not_ ," she denied, a little offended that he thought so. Clarke wasn't _sad._ She had already intended on breaking up with Lexa; she'd just been beaten to the punch.

"Clarke, you don't have to pretend in front of me."

"I'm not pretending," she insisted. At his continued skepticism, she repeated herself: "I'm not! Honestly, she saved me a lot of time. I have to retake the SATs in September and now I can spend more time preparing and all she wanted to do was talk about how she was going to school ten million miles away from here so it never even sounded like she wanted it to _last_ anyways and I can actually think about college and where I want to go and what I want to do and get my mom to stop bothering me about that so—"

"If I say it," he finally interjected, "will you stop?"

"But you won't _mean_ it."

"Then what do you want me to do?"

"I don't know!" Glumly, she finished the burger and balled up the wrapper, neatly depositing it into the bag. A beat, and then, "I'm a little sad. A little. And stupid. I feel like—what did I even see in her?" It was a rhetorical question, of course, because she didn't expect Bellamy to answer and she already knew the answer. She'd liked Lexa's honesty and certainty and confidence. She said what she meant and she meant what she said. She knew what she wanted and what she had wanted at that time was _Clarke._ That was unbelievably exhilarating.

No. That was over.

"Maybe I should just never date again," she declared a little bit later, laying on the couch across from Bellamy, who was sprawled on the other couch. She stared up at the ceiling and felt drowsy.

"That's dramatic."

"But necessary. Think about it."

"I'm not indulging you in this."

"I have _terrible_ luck with relationships,” Clarke said mournfully. “Lily Tremaine. Freshman year. She _literally_ moved away to get away from me.”

"Wasn't she an exchange student?"

“Finn, obviously,” she continued, deliberately ignoring Bellamy’s input. “Cheated on me! With me! And I didn’t suspect a thing!”

“This feels like deja vu.”

“And now Lexa? I’m relationship cursed.”

Amused, Bellamy said, “Three instances doesn’t exactly scream a pattern.”

"Anything more than two is a pattern. I'm not going to push my luck and confirm it with another instance."

"So your plan is to… what, be single forever?"

"I could be a spinster."

"And get a bunch of cats?"

"Well, I'm allergic to cats."

"There goes that plan."

"I'll think of something."

"Good luck with that."

She left it for a few more minutes, until she thought maybe he was asleep. "Hey Bellamy?"

He wasn't, but his voice sounded heavy. "What's up?"

"I should've listened to you."

“Don’t worry about it, Princess.”

She curled up underneath the blanket and turned towards Bellamy, though it was dark enough that she couldn’t tell exactly where he was. “You’re not mad at me?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Clarke, I was mad at you for like three minutes. Then it passed.” She smiled slightly. “You’re really hard to be mad at.”

“Not true.”

“Definitely true.” 

"I've never heard that before."

She heard him move around. "Don't let it go to your head."

"But it's almost a compliment."

"It's _weird_."

"No, it's not. Weirdness is how you can't handle dairy—"

"Because I'm lactose intolerant."

"And how you wake up at 6 AM on the weekends for _fun._ Even when you have nothing to do."

"It's better to keep a routine. That means I'm never late."

"It's fashionable to be late. Haven't you heard the saying?"

"Go to sleep, will you?"

"You can't tell me what to do."

"I'm ignoring you now."

"Good night, Bellamy."

"Good night, Clarke."

*

**(FEEL GOOD HIT OF THE SUMMER.)**

For all of June, the weather had been practically perfect: warm but breezy, an extended spring without the constant rain. It suited days spent playing and nights spent strolling.

And then the third week of July came around and the weather turned into days of unceasing, unbearable heat, the worst kind, the thick, muggy kind of humidity that enveloped you and refused to let go as soon as you stepped outside. It meant everyone was staying inside for the foreseeable future.

Luckily, Jaha had a great AC. She would never think or say anything bad about him ever again, Clarke vowed, as she laid on the couch, positioned right under a vent. For his part, Bellamy had taken the end of the couch, sitting with Clarke’s legs resting on his lap. 

They spent the better part of an hour sitting and laying there with the TV on, but not paying attention to it.

They were also high, thanks to the brownies Monty and Jasper had brought around earlier.

If Jaha could see them now. She giggled.

"What?" 

"I'm just thinking about," she trailed off, forgetting what she wanted to say, and then remembered. "Jaha! We're in his house."

"I hadn't noticed," he said dryly, yelping when she kicked him. "Was that your big revelation?"

"Yes. No. I didn't have a _revelation._ " She heard the white noise of the television adjacent to her and got lulled into distraction. "Remember how you said you'd never, ever, ever, ever, ever come inside Jaha's house?"

"I don't think I used _that_ many evers." He pushed at her ankle but she refused to budge. "But it's still weird. I'm pretending very hard that this is just some random house right now. He's not going to find out we got high here, is he?"

"He probably isn't. Unless he has a camera." She frowned. "God, I hope he doesn't have a camera."

"You don't _know_?"

"I'm not looking for cameras!"

"You should be!"

"Okay, then you do it!"

"I will!" He didn't move. "Later, though."

She nodded, very seriously. "I believe in you. Hey!" Startled, he turned back to her. "Weren't you supposed to be at work?"

He was working at the gelato shop for the summer; Clarke was now a frequent customer.

"Switched shifts with Monroe." That sounded familiar. Maybe he'd already told her and she'd forgotten. "And it wouldn't kill you to stop using my employee discount."

“So I’m supposed to eat gelato at _full price_?”

“Novel, I know,” he deadpanned, then grinned at her. His smile was so nice. Hadn't she always thought so? "Face it. You're a gelato thief."

"I'm not _stealing_ anything."

"You're gaming the system."

"The _system_ never says I can't use your discount. _And_ I always leave good tips! Definitely better than anyone else." 

"Not Mrs. Summers."

"Mrs. Summers is 80."

"And tips me very generously."

"You just remind her of her husband. That's not an even playing ground." 

“Are you mad at Mrs. Summers?”

“No.” But she pouted and he laughed. "It's not fair you like Mrs. Summers more than me."

“I don’t like Mrs. Summers _more_ than you. She’s just a better tipper.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“It totally isn’t.”

“It totally is!”

“Is not!

“Is too!”

This went on for a few minutes before it fizzled out into an extended silence. Clarke thought she saw shapes in the ceiling; she would have to investigate that before Jaha came back.

Finally, Bellamy spoke again, sounding curious and almost sober. “Did I tell you I ran into Lexa over the weekend?”

Clarke jerked herself up, eyes wide, meeting his gaze. “ _What?_ Where? Why? How?"

"At Hilda's. I was picking up dinner for Octavia. I don't know why. She came in and saw me."

"And then what?" She reached out for his arm and clutched onto it, as if that would make him tell the story faster. "Was there a fight?" No, she thought, if there was, she would’ve known about it already. But _something_ must’ve happened, because the thought of the two of them meeting (and she’d had more than one bad dream about it) never ended well.

“I _do_ know how to behave in public, Clarke,” he said.

“I didn’t say _you_ would start anything. _Lexa,_ on the other hand, is _completely_ capable of it.” She nodded vigorously, even though she heard no objection to the statement. “What did… what did she want?”

“She asked how you were,” he answered, a bit slowly. “If you were doing okay and everything.” He looked uncomfortable now, giving her a strange, hesitant look. “So I said you were great and she should fuck off."

"Bellamy!"

"What? Isn't it true?" He challenged, complete with one of those infuriating _I know I'm right_ stares, made all the worse because he _was_ right. Although it'd just been about a month since Lexa had unceremoniously dumped her, the truth of the matter was—Clarke was fine. She thought she'd be upset forever, that she'd carry that heartbreak with her until the end of time, but she wasn't. She was simply… fine. (She still got mad whenever she thought about it, though. That didn't go away that fast.)

"Yes, but—" She floundered for something to say after that. "I think I'm supposed to disapprove."

"But you don't."

"No," she admitted. She even added a small smile. "I think it's… really nice that you did that."

Right away, Bellamy looked alarmed, retreating. “It wasn’t anything. I mean, _someone_ had to. She was acting like… like, of _course_ you weren't doing well. With a smug look on her face like she expected you to have fallen apart without her. Because what else could it have been? What the fuck is that about?”

Clarke felt a familiar warmth in her chest, which she sometimes felt when she looked at Bellamy. She was so lucky to have met him. She was luckier that she knew him. Without thinking about it, and without any warning at all, she flung herself at him, toppling him back against the couch, and wrapped her arms around him. He froze for a long minute.

His voice in her ear, he asked, almost nervously, "What are you doing?"

"You're my best friend, did you know that?" She murmured into his neck, tightening her arms around him even though he wasn't moving. "My best, best, best, best friend."

Slowly, she felt his arms lift up and then around her back. He was hesitant in his movement, which made her release her hold just slightly, but then he wrapped his arms around her and she melted into his embrace. 

His thumb started turning circles against her back. "Are you still high?" He asked, finally saying something.

"Only a little," she said, huffing out a laugh against his skin. "But I still mean it."

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she affirmed. “Who else could it be?”

“Harper?”

“No.”

“Wells.”

“No,” Clarke shook her head, though the effect was muted since he couldn’t see what she was doing. “I love both of them, obviously, but you’re, like, on another level.”

Bellamy said nothing for a while, long enough that it made her nervous. Had she said something wrong? Was she making him uncomfortable? Did he _dislike_ that? And then he squeezed her hard, pulling her into an even closer hold. “You’re my best friend too,” he said, the words sparking delight through her veins. 

“Duh,” she said, smiling into his shoulder. "Who else could it be?"

*

**(SUMMER NIGHTS.)**

Exactly one week after Miller got the idea to host a bonfire out of nowhere, Clarke found herself slightly buzzed off something sweet (Monty had brought it in, but she had forgotten to ask what it was, and now he was off with Jasper attempting another batch of _something,_ so she was never going to know), dancing (or, well, swaying side to side) to the music pumping through the air.

Beside her, Harper regaled her with a story of how she’d run into Murphy and Emori earlier in a situation she wished she could unsee (and Clarke wished she could unhear).

 _“Why_ would you tell me that?” She made a face and shuddered in disgust. “I can’t stop picturing that now!”

“How do you think _I_ feel?” Harper asked, almost laughing. “His pants were around his ankles! If I walked in any later, it would’ve been—”

A bit of Clarke’s drink spilled as she hastily moved to clap her hands over her ears. “Lalalalala, I’m not listening!”

"If _I_ have to suffer, _you_ do too," she insisted, tugging away one hand.

"But _why?_ "

"Because…" Harper thought about it. "Friendship?"

This made sense to her. "What if when I go to sleep that… _image_ pops into my head? Or my dreams?"

"Like… a _sex_ dream?"

"Ew!" Clarke fake-gagged and twisted her expression to show her displeasure. "Don't ever say that again!"

"You mentioned dreams!"

"Like normal ones! Normal dreams!"

"You said it weirdly."

"I said it like anyone would say it. _You're_ the one who automatically assumed I meant Murphy and… _that_ in the same sentence!"

"Don't turn it around on me!"

"You started it!"

They giggled. The drinks were _really_ nice. This whole night was really nice. The weather was nice, finally something other than the heat trap it had been for the past month, and the crowd of people that had gathered in front of Miller's house were all people she either liked or, at the very least, tolerated. She couldn't have asked for a better night.

"Should we tell Miller that his bedroom is now ruined?" She finally said, after they found a spot near the food table—filled mostly with supplies for smores and the random assortments of cookies Clarke had brought over from her mom's fundraiser (they had Abigail Griffin for Mayor written on them, but they were delicious)—and she broke one of those cookies in half, passing one to Harper. "Maybe ruined isn't a bad enough word for it."

"Defiled."

"Sullied."

"Desecrated?"

"Desecrated! Should we tell him his room has been desecrated by Murphy?"

"Someone _should_."

"He probably already knows. It's Murphy. You can't leave your room unlocked when he's around."

"I think it _was_ locked."

"Then we should probably tell him."

"Well, _I'm_ not doing it," Harper said. "I already had to _witness_ it."

"I don't want to ever talk about s-e-x and M-u-r-p-h-y so it can't be _me_ ," she argued. "We need a messenger."

"Like a carrier pigeon?"

"Yes!" She _was_ tipsy but it was still a great idea. "Where do we get a carrier pigeon?"

"The pet store?"

"But that's so far from here."

"Isn't your car just over at Jaha's house? It's like three doors down from here."

"Yeah, but," Clarke waved a hand in explanation, sending crumbs from the cookie flying, "I can't drive right now."

"Oh. Right." This didn't deter Harper. She appreciated that about her friend. "We can get one tomorrow."

"But Miller might want to go to sleep tonight."

"I forgot about that." She gave it some more thought. "Well, maybe we can find Jasper or something to deliver the news. Where is he?" Harper began to look around, her head turning from side to side, looking over and around Clarke. "I _swore_ I saw him earlier because he was looking _really_ fishy, so I hope he's not planning anything, even though I _did_ overhear him and Monty saying—" She faltered all of a sudden, mouth closing, eyebrows furrowing, head tilting.

Clarke waved a hand in front of her face. "Hello?"

She snapped out of it. "What? Nothing."

"I didn't… ask about anything?"

"Oh, um, I thought, never mind!" She laughed, sounding clearly forced. "I don't think he's around here. Maybe we should—"

" _Okay_ ," Clarke cut in, stretching out the word to show how confused she was by this abrupt shift in tone. "What did you see? Is it Murphy again because _ew,_ and _why,_ and please tell me it's not—"

There was no Murphy in sight, but there was a Bellamy, which reminded her that he had been gone longer than he was supposed to, considering he had said he was going to get drinks and come back.

“Okay?” She said, looking back at Harper in confusion. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

"At Bellamy?—He's—oh, Clarke, he's definitely _just_ talking—" For some reason, Harper sounded so _kind_ there, and kind of pitying too. 

She looked again, finally noticing what Harper had noticed. "To the girl?"

"I'm sure it's just talking!"

"I'm sure too," she said, slowly, puzzled by her behavior. "What else could it be?"

A beat, then, an obvious note to Harper's answer, "Flirting?"

Clarke laughed, shaking her head. "He's definitely not flirting."

"What?"

"Look at him!' She was still observing him, now with the girl in question. "He isn't standing the way he does when he flirts with someone. You know, his whole standing thing."

Now she just sounded unhinged. 

“Standing… thing.”

“Can’t you see it?” She gestured over there, glad that there was a distance between them so that he had no clear he was being gossiped about. “He stands differently.”

Harper shook her head. “I haven’t noticed that he has different ways of standing.” 

“Really? It’s so obvious.”

She shook her head again. Clarke grasped for words, finding none. It wasn't hard to miss. There were clear differences from when he had talked to girls he flirted with, like Roma Sanderson and Haven Lee and Florence Hardy, and when he talked to other people. He was cockier when he talked to girls he liked, and leaned closer to them, and had a certain smile on his face. She'd known him for enough time that she could always tell. 

"But he _looks_ like he's flirting."

"Trust me," she said firmly. "He's just talking."

"If you say so," Harper replied, doubtful. "Do you know who that is?"

They both watched the pair again, but there was no familiarity in the other person. She was pretty, with curly brown hair, and she had a nice smile, from what she could see from their vantage point, and there was an ease about her that stood out in talking to Bellamy, like she'd known him for a while, or at least, was comfortable around him. But Clarke had never seen her before, and Bellamy had never mentioned anyone recently—her stomach gave a little twist of discomfort and she could feel a frown disrupting her features.

Suddenly, scratching at her arm, she said, “Excuse me," and stood up, a little too fast for her liking. 

"What are you doing?"

"I…" She hadn't thought of an excuse yet. "Bathroom?"

"Oh, okay." Harper stood up too. "Wait. Clarke?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you…" She gave her a weird look, but didn't finish the sentence. "Nothing. I'm going to find Monty. See you later?"

Clarke nodded, brushing away whatever that was, and waited for Harper to walk away before she did the same, but her feet didn't take her to the bathrooms inside the house, even though she really _did_ need to pee, kind of, now that she was thinking about it. They took her, instead, to Bellamy, sneaking up behind him and grabbing onto his arm, slotting herself right next to him. He stumbled back slightly, but wrapped an arm around her shoulders to steady them.

The girl was gone.

"Hi," she said brightly. "I found you."

Amused, he asked, “You found me? When did I go missing?”

“About the same time you said you were getting drinks.”

He winced. “I was on my way.”

She hummed, examining the ground. “Well, it _looked_ like you were distracted.”

“Distracted? By what?”

"By that really pretty girl you were talking to?"

"Oh," he said. "I wasn't distracted by her."

Clarke snorted in response. "You forgot you were getting drinks. That's probably classified as a distraction."

"I didn't _forget._ I was eventually going to get there."

"I'm highly suspicious of that."

"You're highly suspicious about everything."

"You're being awfully mean to me considering _I'm_ the wronged party here."

"How so?"

"I was promised a drink and didn't receive one."

He laughed, the sound of it resonating through her body with an accompanying warmth. She took the opportunity to get closer. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," he said. "Can I make it up to you? Another drink?" 

"Will I actually get it this time?"

"Scout's honor."

"You looked adorable as a Boy Scout."

"I did it for three months when I was nine."

"But the memories and photos last a lifetime."

Rolling his eyes, Bellamy didn't respond, but made a big show of walking towards the drink area and making something, which he presented to her some minutes later, sitting down next to her at the picnic table she'd just claimed. The drink looked slightly green. "Am I going to like this?"

"Try it."

She did, nearly choking on the taste. "Bellamy!"

A slight smirk emerged on his face. “You didn’t say I had to get you a _good_ drink.”

“What did you _put_ in it?”

“A bit of what Monty brought and then what Jasper brought.”

“They didn’t bring them for you to to _torture_ me with!”

"Should've specified."

She glared at him and shoved the cup back into his hands. A little spilled over and he made a face once he tried it too. Served him right. 

A few seconds passed.

"So," she started.

"So," he repeated.

Clarke resisted the urge to roll her eyes. " _Sooooooooo._ Who was that? The person who definitely didn't distract you."

"No one."

"I don't think Harper and I _hallucinated_ her."

"She works at the shop next to us."

"The yogurt place?"

"Yeah, she's new. Her family just moved here. She's going to Arkadia High in the fall."

"Oh," she said, taking in the information. "She's pretty."

"You said that already," he said, a smile in his voice. "Do you want me to set you up with her?"

"No! That's not what I—you know that I'm _serious_ about not dating anymore!" He still held that skepticism that came out whenever she brought this up, but she _was_ serious, and she had been doing _perfectly fine_ abiding by it. "Besides," she pivoted, "I bet she'd rather date you."

"Why would you think that?"

"Girls can tell these things," she said. "Harper thought so." That, at least, was kind of true, although it was more of the opposite situation. 

"Harper is wrong. Gina—" So that was her name. Gina. Gina something. "—just friends, if that. We barely know each other."

"That's where dating comes in."

"We're not dating!"

"All right," she said, backing off, raising her hands up in surrender. "There is no dating going on at all."

"Thank you."

The question came up without warning. "But… why don't you, though?"

"What," he said, raising an eyebrow at her, "date?" 

"Yeah. You've never dated."

"I've dated before."

"When?"

"I don't know. Before."

"Not while you've been here."

"I've only been here for a year."

"Yeah, but—you've never liked anyone in that time enough to date?"

Bellamy shifted on the bench and shrugged. "It's only been a year. But no… I guess I haven't, really. I don't know. Are you going to say that's weird?"

"No." She felt, actually, a peculiar sense of relief about it. "It's not weird. And take it from me. Dating is the worst. You're really not missing out on much."

His laughter burst out of him with abandon. "Yeah, I think I've heard you say that before. Don't worry, it's not really on my radar."

She patted him on the shoulder. "I've taught you well."

"Oh, you're going to claim credit?"

"I'm going to claim credit," she confirmed, flashing him a big grin. "Let me have this."

"When have I ever been able to do that?"

"That's true. You might be the most annoying person I've ever known."

"Out of _everyone_?”

“Everyone. You just have something that sets you apart.”

“See, you make it _sound_ like a compliment, but it really isn’t.”

She couldn't help it. The look on his face was half-scowl, half-reluctant amusement, and it made her laugh, the giggling uncontrollable in the way it would get when nothing really funny had happened, but it was still funny regardless. Bellamy tried to keep a stoic face, but there it was, the unmistakable curve of his smile, because he couldn't help it either. 

"If you're done being amused at my expense…"

"Oh, never," she started, laughing again when she had to tug him back down as he jokingly got up to storm off. "All right, I'm done!"

" _Finally._ "

"You big baby."

"I think people would be really surprised if they knew how mean you were to me."

"I think people would be really surprised you're _still_ friends with me," she shot back. This was rarely something she voiced, but she still remembered the initial surprise that came with finding out that she and Bellamy were friends, after their explosive start, and the later surprise that came when they saw that they hadn't grown out of their friendship. 

"They don't know anything," he said, the words rough but genuine.

She smiled. "I wish I'd known you sooner. Like if you'd moved here earlier. Middle school. Or even freshman year." Wistfully, she imagined a scenario in which that had happened. "We could've been friends for so much longer."

He did a visible double take at her, the surprise flickering across his expression. "Would you have been able to stand me for that long?"

"Of course. You know I'm joking when I say I don't. Right?" He didn't say anything. "Bellamy. Right?"

"Yeah, yeah, no, I know," he said quickly, blinking at her. "I'm your best friend."

"Yeah. You're my best, best, best, best friend."

A small smile curved up. "You must be drunk."

"Why would I be drunk?"

"Because the only time you're sentimental is when you're not sober."

Gasping, she pulled away from him, but still held onto his wrist. "That's not true. Name one time that's ever been true!"

"When you almost cried at Jasper's surprise party?"

"That was _sweet!_ Other people almost cried too!"

“What about how you got really sappy with all of us that time when—”

“Okay, I got it—”

“And when you went on a long spiel about how we all need to savor this time together because we’ll be going to different colleges next year—”

“Okay,” she said waspishly, crossing her arms, “that point still stands. And you're forgetting the really important bit!”

“Which is?”

“I'm sentimental other times!” And it wasn’t an afterthought, but she did think of it after the fact, “Also I’m not drunk!”, which was true since whatever buzz she had had gone away at this point, and she wasn’t _that_ much of a lightweight.

"You know Shakespeare's whole thing about protesting too much…"

"I'm not!" She repeated, standing up sharply, almost stomping her feet. "Look, I can prove it…" She started waving her arms around, inducing a snort from him.

"What are you doing?"

"Proving that I'm not drunk." She was stretching now. "If I was drunk, would I be able to do this?"

"I still don't know _what_ you're doing."

"Have you ever seen a drunk person stretch so well?"

"You have the weirdest ideas, Clarke. What are you doing _now_?"

"Walking. Drunk people can't walk straight. That's why they always make them walk in a straight line, right?"

"I have no idea." He tilted his head at her, clearly trying his best to hold back his laughter at the sight. "You are _so_ drunk, Princess." There was a teasing note in his voice, but even if she hadn't heard it, she would've been able to pick it up from the look on his face. He was having _fun_ with this, and, well, Clarke had always held a certain pride in making him laugh.

"You know what," she walked a circle around the table, letting his eyes follow her, "I think _you're_ the one who's drunk. And you're trying to throw me off by acting like _I'm_ the drunk one."

"There is no logic in that."

"Who says there has to be?"

"I do. And so does—hey, be—"

She had tripped, her foot catching against a clump of dirt that had lodged deep into the ground, sending her stumbling forward, cutting off the end of Bellamy's sentence that would've doubtlessly ended with "careful," but then, there he was, lurching towards her, catching her by the waist before she fell onto the ground. 

"Careful," he finished, pulling her up against his chest, an exasperated look on his face. His hands, she was all too aware of it, held onto her hips—and they were very close. 

Clarke wasn't drunk. She wasn't. She knew that for sure, because she knew herself. But in a way, she felt like she was, because she could feel her heart beating, and it was fast, and she felt a little woozy looking at him, and he really was _so close_ all of a sudden, his eyelashes long and dark as he blinked at her, that scar on his upper lip right _there,_ the dimple in the groove of his chin just inches from her, but neither of them did anything, not to move back, not to move forward, not to jump apart, and Bellamy's fingers were digging into the top of her skirt, and she sucked in a breath—

"Hey Bellamy?" Her voice was whisper quiet, but she felt like she had shouted.

"Yeah?"

"You look really nice tonight."

"Yeah?"

She nodded, eyes fixed on his mouth. His mouth looked really nice tonight too. _Was_ she drunk? "Yeah. And I'm…" Trailing off, because she didn't know what else to say.

On her tiptoes now, and _knowing,_ of course, knowing there was no way it would end well, yet overpowered by the immediate part of her that refused to care, she leaned towards him and while every bad idea she had ever had paled in comparison to this one, she could swear it wasn't, not when Bellamy was looking at her like he'd never seen her before, not when both of them moving at the same time, lips meeting with a shyness that was uncharacteristic of either of them. It was exploratory, almost as if neither of them were aware of what had just occurred. For a few seconds, this was all they did, and then the kiss deepened, her eyes closing as his tongue slipped into her mouth, and a little sigh escaped her, which made Bellamy pull her even closer. All of this happened so fast that she didn't register it _fully_ happening until he broke the kiss, letting go of her, wrenching himself backwards, watching Clarke fumble for purchase as the gravity shifted from the abrupt change.

“Shit,” he said, eyes wide. He was staring at her again, still like he hadn’t seen her before, but not in the same way. “Shit shit shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn't have, fuck, I didn’t mean to—”

Despite herself, his words hit her like an insult. It hadn't been _that_ bad. It hadn't been _bad_ at all. “It’s all right,” she said, resisting the urge to touch her mouth, as if that would help her process what had just happened. Had she and Bellamy actually kissed? Had she just ruined everything? Had she actually liked it? “It's my fault. I... Bellamy, it’s fine.” She didn’t know if she believed it.

"No, uh, I'm just—" He was dazed, out of it—had _he_ been drunk? "I'm just going to… Go. I'm going to go."

"Bellamy…"

"Clarke, uh," he wasn't looking at her, the tense line of his shoulders all she could see, "I have to go."

She knew whatever she said would fall on deaf ears, he was so intent on leaving, and maybe there was a part of her that _wanted_ him to leave, and wouldn't protest if he did, so she nodded silently, biting back anything else she might've said. By the time he had disappeared from sight, Clarke had collapsed back onto the bench, heart thudding in her ears.

*

**(SUMMERTIME SADNESS.)**

The next time she saw Bellamy, she slammed the door in his face.

Not _intentionally,_ of course. It just happened like that. She had answered the stupid doorbell, which had rang five times in thirty seconds, irritated, not expecting anyone in particular, and when she opened the door to find that Bellamy was standing behind it, she panicked, shutting the door upon instinct. The doorbell rang again, which did nothing to abate the panic welling inside her.

“I'm not here!”

“Seriously?” came the reply. "I _just_ saw you. You opened the door." Clarke glared at the door. Would it have killed him to have shot her a text beforehand? It’d been three days since… well, _Since,_ so it was definitely the kind of instance where a little warning was necessary. 

"Just a minute!" She took a deep breath. This was fine. It was just seeing Bellamy and she had never had a problem with that before, even when she basically hated him. (Then again, she'd never _kissed_ him before, so there was a bit of a difference there.) She could look at him and talk to him and act like nothing was wrong. Which was easy because nothing _was_ wrong! (Why the _hell_ had she done that? What had honestly possessed her to think that she could just _kiss_ him without a problem? That she could throw caution to the wind and throw away their friendship just because he looked so nice and he was looking at her and his hands felt so good on her, and _no._ She wasn't going through that again.) 

The minute passed. She opened the door. Bellamy didn't look any different than he had that night. His hair was a little messier and he had a hint of _just woke up_ and his eyes looked nervously back at her, but there was no change in his appearance that reflected anything about the momentous shift that had occurred three days ago. He looked as good as ever. Clarke wished she felt the same, regretting her unwashed hair and the baggy shirt she had worn to bed last night and hadn't changed out of yet. She wasn't trying to impress him or anything, but she still wished she had the opportunity to look a _little_ better.

"Hey!" she said, her voice a little squeaky. "What's… up?"

"You, uh, you busy?"

Her answer came out too quickly. "No." She was supposed to be packing but… she could pack later. She could shove everything back into her bag tomorrow morning, if it came down to it. "Why?"

"Do you have time to take a walk or something?" He jerked his head behind him, gesturing to the lakefront ahead of them. "You don't have to, I mean, only if you want to—"

"Just let me grab a few things and I'll be right there," she nodded rapidly before dashing back to the guest room, where she swapped her shirt for something less _pajama-ish,_ shoved a hat over her hair (no time to do her hair like she wanted to), and grabbed her keys. Breathlessly, she met him at the door a few minutes later. 

"Let's go!" She exclaimed, wishing she could take it back as soon as she said it. It would be _fine_ if she hadn't sounded so _eager,_ so unlike herself, but she _did_ and it grated at her. Why was she acting like this? This was Bellamy! She didn't act weird around Bellamy! So what if they had kissed and it hadn't been awful (for her, at least, because the way he recoiled from her kind of casted doubt on that)? So what if they were best friends and best friends didn't exactly do that? So what if she might've ruined their friendship? It was still Bellamy, and he was here, wasn't he?

Bellamy led the way, walking down the driveway with his hands in his pockets and guiding them towards the lake. He didn't say anything for a while, until they had passed the pier and she heard his voice over the sound of the water and the wind, "So, how are you?"

Having resigned herself to a walk of silence, and annoyed at her own inability to say anything, Clarke looked up in surprise. Her words felt foreign on her tongue. “I’m okay. Um, good. How—what about you?”

"The same," he said, adding a brief smile as some sort of proof or something. "What have… you been up to?"

"Not much. Just. Packing and stuff." _And avoiding you and wondering if you were avoiding me and kind of hoping you were and kind of hoping you weren't._

"Oh. Right. Because you're going to London soon."

"Yeah. Saturday."

"That's exciting. And soon."

"I guess so, yeah."

It was official. This was the worst conversation she'd ever had with anyone, bar none. Her head ducked back down, blushing furiously, angrily, at how this was going. What was the point of asking her to go for a walk if this was how it was going to be? 

Maybe he realized it too, because he spoke again. "I looked up the weather. It doesn't seem that bad. Not as rainy as I was led to believe it's supposed to be."

"You looked up the weather? For London?"

"No, for Athens."

“Oh.”

“No, it—it was for London.”

"Oh!” Of course. That was a joke. “Um, I wish I was going to Athens."

"Blame Wells."

"I've been doing that since we were eight and it's never failed me before."

"I'm sure he _loved_ that."

She snorted at him. "He's the golden child. No one ever believed me."

"Are you seriously trying to convince me that _you_ were the rebel?"

"You don't have to say it like _that._ It's not _that_ unbelievable."

"Only if you’re comparing yourself to Saint Wells."

“He _hates_ that nickname.”

He smirked. “Why do you think I use it?”

"You know he thinks you're a bad influence on me?"

"Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"Jury's out."

Bellamy slowed down a little, enough that he fell back in step with her and they were standing side by side, walking down the path around the lake. Since it was only early afternoon, there were a few boats on the water, a few kids playing around. It was almost calm—and completely at odds with the way her stomach was twisting.

"What's the plan? Wells picking you up?"

She adjusted her cap so it wouldn't blow away in the wind and nodded. "He's meeting me at Heathrow, then we’re going back to his mom's house, and then we're going to have dinner. And then I'm going to be an obnoxious tourist and embarrass him probably."

"And take pictures everywhere you can think of?"

"And get in the way of people trying to walk somewhere."

"Don’t forget to be really loud and make everyone wonder who the annoying blonde American is."

"And obviously I have to take selfies every ten seconds."

"Sounds like a plan you've really thought about," he said, smiling a little. Her heart skipped in delight. Once he started grinning, it wasn't long before Clarke mirrored the action, the smile reaching her eyes and lightening her entire mood. It seemed to do the same for him, his whole body relaxing at once. She almost let out a sigh of relief; she had been overreacting earlier. It was normal that they had been awkward at first, given, well, everything that had happened, but they powered through that. They could power through anything. They were fine. She shouldn't have doubted that.

“So… I actually had a reason for this walk.”

She heard the way her heartbeat picked up as she looked over at him, stoically looking forward. “You had an ulterior motive for walking?”

A dry chuckle filled the air. “Something like that. So, uh… well…” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously and she decided to take pity on him.

“The other night.”

“Yes. That.” He struggled for words. “First, I should apologize.”

"Ap... apologize? _Why?"_

"Yeah," he rushed out, like he'd prepared a speech for this exact moment. Honestly, knowing him, he probably had practiced this for hours. It certainly sounded like it. "I don't know what made me do it. I don't know why I thought it was a good idea or that I could've asked that from you. It was stupid and selfish and if you hate me, I totally get it, because I hate myself for it too, and if you never want to talk to me ever again, I'll accept that. I really will. I know I ruined everything, so—"

He spoke so fast that it actually took a moment for her brain to catch up to what she heard, and when it did, she couldn't help but feel offended by everything he said. He'd basically said it before, just not in so many words, when he ran away from her, but hearing— _again,_ she wanted to point out, as if once wasn't a blow to her ego enough—that it had been _that_ bad for him, and that he assumed she thought the same thing, was another thing entirely. 

Wearily, she stopped him before he could go on another spiel. "Bellamy, stop," she said, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration. "You haven't ruined anything."

"For _now._ "

"For any time," she stressed. "I don't even understand why you're _apologizing._ "

"I crossed a line."

"But _I…”_ Great going, Clarke, she thought. You can't even _say_ it. She forced it out: "I was the one who… kissed you, so if _anything,_ I should be apologizing." She _should._ Oh God. Why hadn't she? "Which, yeah, I'm sorry. I really… I'm really sorry."

"No, it's okay—"

"You got to apologize—"

"Because I _should_ apologize—"

"Except you didn't do anything wrong! That was me! I started it!"

"I kissed you back! I didn't stop you!"

Ouch, again.

"Okay, one of us has to stop," she said waspishly, trying to hide the hurt there. She shouldn't have been… she knew what he meant when he said that, she knew why he felt guilty, she should've known it before she even decided to kiss him, should've known that it was going to wreck everything. But in her defense—she hadn't known he would ever kiss her back. (Was that a defense?) "And since it's _my_ fault, it's on you to stop."

"That's not…"

"Bellamy." He shut up. She calmed down a little. "I'm sorry. And I… I hope that I didn't ruin anything."

He shook his head. "Nothing. You didn't."

"It kind of feels like…" she swallowed hard, "are you sure?"

"Yeah. We're fine."

He said the words forcefully, like he was trying to believe it too. It wasn't easy for him. It wasn't easy for her either. "Okay."

"We can just," he started, then stopped, then started again. "I mean, we can… forget that it happened. Let's just… not make a big deal out of it."

Oh.

It was silly. It was _sensible._ Practical. They _should_ forget it, if it was going to cause all this trouble. Clarke knew it, but she still felt a sharp stab of disappointment upon hearing his suggestion, her heart plummeting to her stomach at the thought that they were going to erase this away just like that. Her smile may have been more false than normal. “Wow,” she said, adopting a playful tone while keeping her gaze on him the best she could, "the kiss was _that_ bad, huh?”

Bellamy’s cheeks tinged a deep pink as he coughed and looked away. “N—no. No, that’s not it. I didn’t mean—I just—it definitely wasn’t bad. Trust me.”

It was Clarke’s turn to blush, and blush she did, heat traveling to her neck, to her face, her ears as the memory came unbidden to her brain, and she soaked in the validation he offered her. Even if he was just _saying_ it, it still counted. Right?

“I’m just joking,” she finally replied, pulling her cap down further, like that would keep him from noticing how red she was. “We can forget it. Obviously. Sounds good. But, um, to be fair, I want to note that you're the only one who was making a big deal out of it."

"Oh, like _you_ weren't avoiding me?"

"I wasn't! I was just. Busy."

"That sounds completely believable."

"It's not my problem you won't believe it."

"Ha ha ha," he intoned, but then nodded, running his hand through his hair. Was it relief he was feeling? "Okay. We'll forget it." His mouth ticked upwards. "Should we shake on it?"

Her hand felt heavy as she extended it towards him. "You are so lame."

"That's what you always tell me."

*

**(CRUEL SUMMER.)**

She woke up with a start. It was fuzzy at first, but then the dream became clearer and clearer until it was like she was in the dream again, her arms wound around his shoulders, her ankles hooked around his back, her giggle into his ear as he looked at her with eyes that she would've known from anywhere, hoisted her up onto the table, and pressed whisper-soft kisses into the crook of her neck—

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty."

She opened one eye. 

Wells Jaha, sitting across from her, carrying a crossword puzzle in his hand because that was what Wells Jaha did, looked at her curiously.

"I'm not awake," she mumbled, trying to lull herself back to sleep—back to that dream, if only for a few minutes. That’d be enough time. "Stop bothering me." It slowly came back to her, where she was and what she was doing. After exhausting every possible thing they could do in the last 10 days, Wells had suggested a trip. Clarke had suggested Scotland. "Are we there yet?"

"No. We're approaching Edinburgh though."

The dream was disappearing. She groaned and opened her eyes fully, rubbing the sleep out of them. Clarke didn't know when she'd fallen asleep, but now that she was awake, she knew there was no way to get back to it. Her attention went to her phone, flipping it over. Immediately, she typed up a response and sent it. "I fell asleep for that long?"

"Yep. By the way, you still drool in your sleep."

Instinctively, she wiped at her mouth, but came away with nothing. "Liar."

Wells snickered. "Gotcha."

Clarke thought about her dream again, a dream she’d had _on a public train_ in the company of _Wells,_ and sat up straight, stuttering her way through, “I didn’t, um, say anything while I was sleeping, did I?”

"No," he said, thankfully.

"Oh. Good," she responded. Wells looked suspiciously at her. 

"Why? Are you supposed to say something?" A sly look crossed his face. "Or is it something you _shouldn't_ say?"

"It's nothing."

"So it _is_ something."

"Did you just not hear what I said?"

"I'm reading between the lines."

"There's nothing to read!"

He sat back and observed her. "What were you dreaming about?"

"Nothing. Why do you assume I was even dreaming?"

"Because you were sleeping way too deeply to not be."

"You don't _always_ dream when you sleep."

"Sure, but you definitely did."

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did.”

“Didn’t!”

“Did! It _must_ be embarrassing if you won’t tell _me._ You’ve even told me about your weird sex dream about Scorsese, so what could—”

“Oh my god,” she shrieked, looking around for something to toss at him, and settling on her empty coffee cup. “I _told_ you it wasn't a sex dream about Martin Scorsese!”

"Close enough!"

"Nothing happened in it!"

"You can keep saying that, but it's about as convincing as it was the first time, which, you know, it wasn't."

"Ugh," she groaned, giving up, crossing her arms, and falling back against the seat all surly. "I hate you." Her eyes caught on her phone again, so she took another quick look, hoping—she smiled, texted back.

"Who are you talking to?"

"What?"

"Your phone," he pointed at the item in question. "Not counting your brief stint in dreamland, you've been checking that thing religiously ever since we boarded four hours ago."

He wasn't _wrong._ She and Bellamy had been texting for the duration of that time. It was a slow day at work, after all, and Wells had fallen asleep for the first hour of the train ride, leaving Clarke to seek entertainment elsewhere. But she didn't want to share it with Wells. It was a surprise to her that they’d been able to go back to their dynamic so easily, and maybe there was an element of overcompensation to the conversations, but the facts of the matter stood that they were talking as they normally would.

"I… it's nothing. No one, I mean." To prove it, she slid her phone further down the seat, raising her hands up in mock surrender, even though the urge to check it again itched at her. "It's not important."

"So it _is_ something. Clarke," he sighed, "I know we barely see each other, but I still know when you're lying. What's going on with you?" Wells set his crossword down on the seat and gave her his best Wells Jaha Look. It had a 98% chance of getting her to talk. To her credit, she did fight it for a minute or two.

But, like everyone else who had ever been guilted by the Wells Jaha Look, she folded. The story spilled out of her: the kiss, the aftermath, the agreement to forget it (easier said than done, apparently), and even the dream (just that one, because not even Wells could get her to admit that this wasn’t exactly the first time since the Incident that she’d dreamt about Bellamy like this).

"I can't believe you _kissed_ ," Wells said, once she finished her spiel. He repeated it again, still blindsided by the information.

"That's definitely not the point I'm trying to focus on here," she said, kicking him in the shin.

"But it's definitely the point _I'm_ focusing on. You _kissed_ him. Oh my god, look at you." His face was lit up in a big, joyful grin. "You're _blushing_ about it."

"I am not. It's just how my face is."

"The only time your face ever got that red when you're _not_ blushing was during the sunburn of 2012."

"Oh my _God!_ We agreed to never bring that up again!"

"We're getting off track here, aren't we?"

"No," she replied, crossing her arms. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You have to. You're blushing and this is, like, big news!"

"No, it isn't." Bellamy had made that rather clear. And she'd agreed. So it wasn't.

"Yes, it is. You kissed Bellamy. It'd be like if _we_ kissed." He scrunched up his face. Sure, he'd had a crush on her when they were kids, but they had been twelve and he eventually grew out of it. 

"It's so not like that. I've never—" She stopped herself.

Unfortunately, Wells pounced on that, a gleam in his eye. "Never what?"

"Never _mind._ "

"Clarke," he whined, jumping over to sit next to her. "You can't just leave that sentence like that. I can and _will_ finish it myself."

"I said never mind!"

"Never what? Never kissed me? Never considered me as more than a friend? Never had a sex dream about me? Never wondered—oh my god," he said, that gleam even wider and brighter now, which was so much worse. "Were you having a sex dream about him? On this train? In public? In front of me?"

" _No,_ shut _up_ ," she almost yelped, slipping down further in the seat. "It wasn't a sex dream—"

"Like the Scorcese one wasn't a sex dream—"

"I mean it! Nothing happened! We were just… making out," she was blushing so hard her cheeks were on fire, her ears on the way there as well, "and it was… going places, I guess. Or about to." Her voice got squeakier as she finished and she wished she had something to hide her face in.

Nothing, nothing, _nothing_ was worse than Wells being excited about her misfortunes. "You had an _almost_ sex dream about Bellamy Blake?"

"I _really_ hate you right now."

"Why? Because I'm not Bellamy and you can't kiss me? Or do worse?"

"I don't _mind_ throwing you off this train, I hope you know that."

Wells was practically wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "Look, you're the one who has feelings for him. I think I deserve to make fun of you for it."

His words seemed to clang throughout the entire compartment. "I... what? I do _not_ have feelings for Bellamy."

"What? You kissed him. That sounds like a pretty feelings-y thing to me."

"I didn't kiss him because I have feelings for him. I mean, I don't even know _why_ I did it. It just... it really just happened so… so fast!" Her eyebrows furrowed together. "Stop giving me that look!"

"That's just my face, Clarke."

"Well, look somewhere else then."

"I can't look somewhere else."

"Yes, you can. Look out the window!"

"You are so ridiculous."

"And _you're_ making a big deal out of nothing."

"Oh, I get it."

"Get what?"

"You're in the denial stage. I hate when you do that." 

If _only_ she hadn't thrown her coffee cup at him already. She really wanted to throw something else at him. "I'm not denying anything. I'm telling you the truth."

"The," she could hear the air quotes coming, "truth."

"Yes, the truth. Get any other ideas out of your head."

"No can do."

She scowled at him. "Why are you so insistent on this? You don't even _like_ Bellamy. Shouldn't you be discouraging this?"

"I don’t _hate_ the guy."

"Um, last time we talked about him, you literally said that you hated him."

"Last time we talked about him, you were mad at him and I was doing my best friend—the non-Bellamy variety—duty."

"So?"

"So he’s not a terrible guy. If you like him, then I think that’s great.”

“Stop it!”

“Stop… supporting you?”

"Stop… being so whiplashy about him. Be consistent!"

"Let me get this right… you're mad that I _don't_ hate Bellamy?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"Nothing! I don't know! It's just weird that you're pushing me and… him… together. We're just friends." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her screen light up again, the familiar shadow of Bellamy's name on the notification. She fell silent, but her fingers itched for her phone, even though she couldn't let Wells have that satisfaction. It'd probably feed into his stupid, _wrong_ theory. 

But the longer she sat there, waiting Wells out, the more his words stuck to her. Was there a possibility that…

"Wells?"

"Yes?"

"What if…" she blinked rapidly, her mind spinning at the gravity of the realization that struck her, her stomach flipping around and over as she came to accept the thing that shouldn't have taken Wells to _tell_ her about to accept it. "What if you were right? A little?"

Wells had known her longer than anybody. He knew when to tease her and when not to. This was one of the latter times. "Am I?"

Clarke nodded, small and unsure. "You might be. Just a little."

"Then that's big."

"Yeah." She had to agree with that. "Oh my god."

"Are you… how are you dealing with this?"

"I don't—" She sucked in a big breath. "Oh my god. Oh god."

"Clarke," his hand came up to squeeze her shoulder, "are you going to hyperventilate? Do you need a paper bag?"

"No," she straightened up, sucking in another breath and then releasing it. There. That felt better. "No. I'm fine now."

"You're just saying that."

"No, I really mean it." Inhale, exhale. Repeat. "I just got overwhelmed for a second. It's okay."

"Are you _sure_?"

"Yeah," which, for the most part, was true. She still felt like a liar saying it, though. "I mean, it's just a crush. I've had crushes before."

"On your best friend."

"No, obviously not, but. It's a crush. It's not any different."

He let her keep talking. "I have crushes all the time and they don’t mean anything and they usually don’t even amount to anything. I mean, I know… I know we… kissed or whatever, but that wasn’t really—I guess I just wanted to know what it would be like? Curiosity, you know. And it was really sudden, the whole thing at the party. Bonfire. And it was, you know, I was kind of drunk a little." She wasn't. "And it doesn't actually matter, you know, because the kiss was one time and he said we're forgetting about it so we aren't ever speaking about it again. It basically never happened."

"Except—"

 _"No,"_ she cut him off, shooting him a look. "We're never talking about it again."

"This seems like a bad idea."

 _"You_ seem like a bad idea."

"You've had better comebacks. And you've been more stubborn than you are now." He grinned at her, sneaky and mischievous. "I guess we'll see who's right in the end."

Clarke refused to acknowledge that. She was already right. She didn't need to prove it.

(It was just a crush. It would go away by the time she got back.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think!!!!


	3. PART THREE.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> senioritis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there was a lot about this part that was SO hard to get right but it also ended up having a lot of some of my favorite things in it too.

**III.**

**(SECOND IMPRESSIONS.)**

On the first day of senior year, Clarke was called into the principal's office.

Was it a tradition if this was only the second time it had happened? Probably not, but it was a little bit funny that it had happened again.

"Clarke! Happy first day! Welcome back! Welcome back!" Jaha greeted her uproariously. She'd gotten up before her alarm, awake and alert, excited about going to school and seeing everyone (and showing off the bit of tan she'd _finally_ managed), had a bit of nostalgia about the fact that it was her last first day of high school, and actually felt like this year would be good, if not great, and still, she could not match Thelonious Jaha's enthusiastic energy. Not at 8:21 in the morning.

“Hi, Principal Jaha,” she said wearily, pasting on a smile. “How are you?”

“Splendid, just splendid!” He clapped his hands together. “Senior year, eh? You must be excited!”

"I am," she said, and meaning it. "It is pretty exciting."

"I remember _my_ senior year, of course. I was student body president," his voice took on an air of reminiscence, "I'm sure you'll follow this path as well—" Clarke nodded. Freshman class rep. Sophomore class rep. Junior class rep. Student body president. Jaha was still talking, "—when I fell in love with Wells' mother, you know… I will never forget that." Now she shifted uncomfortably; whenever he got onto this subject, it was always unpredictable. Once, he had recounted their entire courtship for her and Wells. Another time, he'd started tearing up (she'd managed to escape before he started crying). She hoped this would be neither of those instances. She was lucky this time. "Ah, well. It was a marvelous time."

"I bet it was," she replied uneasily. Quickly, before he got sidetracked again, she continued, "What did you want to see me for?"

"Yes, of course," he rummaged around on his desk until he found what he was looking for, which was a file folder that he opened before him. "We have a new student from Arbor… spotless record, obviously, a lovely girl, you do such a fine job taking new students around—" (Clarke didn't want to point out what happened last year when she took _Bellamy_ around) "You can do it again, can’t you?"

It wasn't like she could say no. "I'd love to," she said, then looked around. "But where is she?"

"I _did_ ask her to be here for this—I hope she hasn't forgotten…" He went to pick up the phone, but before he dialed his secretary's number, a knock sounded on his door. "That must be her! Miss Martin, please come in."

Once beckoned, she entered the room, an apology spilling out of her mouth. "I'm _so_ sorry," she said, "I was told to get here by the back staircase, but I think I must've heard them wrong, because I got lost and it took me a while to figure out where I was going."

"Not a problem, not a problem, Miss Martin—may I call you Gina?"

She—Gina—nodded. As Jaha went on, introducing himself, the school, and the community, Clarke took the opportunity to discreetly observe her. She looked vaguely familiar, less in the pretty, normal way, and more in the had-she-met-her-before way. But Arbor was four hours away and she was fairly certain they'd never crossed paths before. She wasn't great with names, but her face felt vaguely familiar. She tuned back in when she heard her name. "—is Clarke. She'll show you around the school and be able to answer any questions you have. You won't find yourself lost again with her around!"

_Why_ did he always have to overdo it? With that, and another booming welcome, Jaha sent them off. Once they left the office area, she turned to Gina with minor embarrassment. "I'll try my best, at least. It's nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too. I promise I'm not that bad with directions."

"Oh, that's good, because I _am_ ," she joked. "And I feel like I should apologize for Jaha. He's… a bit, well, a lot much, I know."

"It's kind of fun, I think," Gina replied, with a laugh. "I don't mind it."

_That_ was probably a first. "I'll take your word for it." They were in the hallway now, walking along the junior corridor. "What brought you to Arkadia? I mean, if you want to say."

"It's not that interesting. My mom, she's an engineer, she got a job here, and we moved. I actually have some family in the area too, so it's kinda like it was meant to be."

She brightened up. "My dad was an engineer too! I don't take after him, though. Numbers are not my thing."

"That's how it is for me too. I think if I could, I'd just be a bartender and call it a day."

They chatted like this for the whole tour, easily going in and out of various topics without much effort. By the end, when she waved goodbye to Gina as the first period bell started ringing and she ducked into the Physics classroom, she'd decided that she was going to be friends with her. 

"There you are," Harper said, moving her bag off the chair next to her so Clarke could claim the seat. "Why did that take so long?"

"Jaha."

That was enough of an explanation. She made a face of understanding. "It's like he doesn't realize you have better places to be!"

People kept filing in, chattering amongst them. She kept her eyes on the door, waiting for Bellamy. Mr. Hennessey, their teacher, was notorious for never being on time, which gave his students more leeway about getting to class. Although she hadn't seen Bellamy yet, what with the whole whisked off to talk to Jaha thing in the morning and missing homeroom entirely, they had Physics together. And AP Bio, Calc, and an independent study period. If Clarke from a year ago could see their schedules now, she would've demanded a new one. "Actually, I didn't mind it. Plus, I think I made a friend!"

"Really?"

"You don't have to say it like _that."_

"I meant it nicely, obviously. Who is it?"

"Her name's Gina," she said, breaking her watch of the door to grab her notebook from her bag. "Gina… Martin, I think? She moved here from Arbor. She's really nice and I don't hold this against her, but she _actually_ finds Jaha amusing? I mean, she was probably saying that to be nice, but—what? You look weird."

Harper had frozen to the spot, her mouth twisted down in a small frown. "No, I don't," she squeaked out.

"Um, yes you do. And you _sound_ weird."

"That's just how I normally sound."

"Okay…" She was in too good of a mood to delve into that right now. "If you say so…"

"I do!" She started shuffling around in her bag for a few seconds, and then: "I mean, that's good, though. Yeah, that’s really good. That you're friends with Gina. I guess I was worried about nothing, then. She _is_ really nice."

"You know her?" Her eyebrows came together. "What were you worried about?"

"We met over the summer! And just… you know…" Harper shrugged. "Well, it's probably a little awkward."

"Why?"

"I mean," she said, her sightline catching behind Clarke, prompting her to turn around, where she was rewarded with Bellamy strolling into class, Miller at his side. He had gotten a haircut since the last time they'd seen each other, something she did remember him telling her about, and he'd definitely carried more of a tan than Clarke's four weeks in the sun had yielded, and he was wearing a new shirt, but despite all of the little changes, she still felt that familiar flutter of happiness, the same pull towards him, the same wish to be around him all the time. Okay, so the crush thing? Still there. But that was okay. She waved at him. Too late, she remembered that Harper was still talking. "—should've known that you wouldn't let it affect that, really—"

"Harper," she laughed, "sorry, I really don't know what you're talking about. Why did you think me being friends with the new girl would be awkward?"

"Well," her head tilted at her, and she was almost looking at her like it was so obvious she shouldn't have had to articulate it, "because she's Bellamy's girlfriend, I thought it might—"

Mr. Hennessey arrived, shutting the door behind him, at that exact moment. In the noise of the classroom, no one paid him any attention, least of all Clarke. She had other things on her mind. All she could think of, and voiced, was, "His _what_?"

*

**(THREE'S COMPANY.)**

_Apparently_ they'd started dating about two weeks ago. _Apparently_ it—their attraction, their connection, or whatever—started all because they kept working the same shifts and decided to hang out afterwards. _Apparently_ they had a lot in common. _Apparently_ Bellamy asked Gina out. _Apparently_ none of this was worth mentioning to Clarke at any point during the last two weeks, as if there hadn't been any opportunity to do so, like she and Bellamy _hadn't_ talked _nearly every day_ during the month of August. 

While waiting for her lunch to finish microwaving, she glared at the wall and pretended it was the back of Bellamy's head. Had it really been _so_ hard to let her know about this? Had he just forgotten? Had he decided that it wasn't important enough, as if he wasn't _dating someone_ and that was more than Mildly Consequential to the state of affairs? Had he just not—

"You've been standing there a while," Bellamy spoke up, suddenly right next to her, scaring the shit out of her.

"Holy shit," she yelped, jumping away and clutching at her chest. "Don't _do_ that."

“I didn't mean to. I didn't know you'd jump like that."

"Well, when someone comes out of nowhere like that, it's kind of the only reaction to have."

"Sorry. I underestimated my scariness." She had to turn away from him. Looking at him made everything harder. "Heard you did another tour this morning."

Her eye twitched. "Yep."

"Did it go better than the last one you did?" He was trying to _joke_ with her.

"Yep."

He paused. Bellamy may be bullheaded at times, prone to spontaneity, and had a weird habit of biting his pen caps, but no one could ever say he was not perceptive about mood shifts. No one could ever say he didn't know what was going on. She heard a sigh. "So I can explain."

"You have nothing to explain," she said, shaking her head, still not meeting his eye. The microwave started to signal its end. Clarke waited a few seconds and then pulled the bowl out, stirred its contents, and placed back on the microwave plate, setting it for three more minutes. "I'm not mad at you." 

She was totally mad at him.

"You're not?" 

"Nope. I understand."

She totally didn't.

"You… do?"

"Yep." She was starting to get sick of that word. "I mean, obviously you didn't think I was worth telling about something _this_ major happening in your life. I mean, _obviously,_ you had no opportunity to tell me. And _obviously_ it was totally fine for me to meet your new girlfriend without actually knowing that she was your new girlfriend, so, no, I'm not mad."

_Why_ wasn't this microwave going _any_ faster?

"You know I don't think that at all," he started, pleading. She held up her hand.

"I don't know that actually. I don't think I know anything about you!" 

It sounded dramatic. It _was_ dramatic. In one sense, Clarke knew she was overreacting. She _was_ upset with Bellamy for keeping it from her, and it hurt her pride to think that he didn't tell her because he didn't think she was important enough to know—but she could've told him that and it would've been fine. He would apologize and she would forgive him, even though the idea of him _dating_ was so foreign to her it would take a while to get used to. But that sense was overridden by that same hurt, only heightened by how stupid she felt, for not connecting the dots between the girl she'd seen flirting with Bellamy at Miller's bonfire (and apparently Harper _had_ been right after all) and the girl she'd just met and taken on a tour of the school, further exacerbated by the feeling of being blindsided, not just because of the news, but also because of who it concerned and because of who blindsided her, and finally, made so much worse because of that stupid, awful, terrible, wish-it-wasn't-true crush.

He sighed again. "Don't be like that, okay?"

"I'll be like whatever I want to be, thanks Bellamy."

"Okay, I didn't mean it like that."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have said it."

"I'm _trying_ to explain—"

"Save it," she interrupted, jabbing the end button on the microwave and grabbing the bowl carelessly, burning her fingers. "Fuck."

"Jesus, be careful, Clarke—" A memory flashed behind her eyes and she had to grit her teeth to get rid of it.

"Don't." She grabbed her napkins and adjusted her hold. That was better. "It's fine. Let's not talk about this anymore, all right? I don't care." Liar. "Gina's really nice. I'm happy for you. I guess Harper was right."

He didn't know what she was talking about. "Come on, Clarke. Can we just… talk?"

"Nope," she said brightly and falsely. "I'm going to eat my lunch!" 

There wasn't much else to do then but to storm off, so she did that, plopping herself in the chair next to Jasper with an angry sigh that blew the hair out of her eyes. No one said anything about seeing them argue; thank God they were too engrossed in their own conversations to pay attention to a Bellamy-and-Clarke-fight. Things had really changed since this time last year.

She tuned back into the conversation, if Jasper's conspiracy theories about the school's mashed potatoes counted as that, just as Bellamy slunk back to the table, quietly sitting down next to Gina. Clarke pointedly did not look that way. 

*

**(AN ATTEMPT.)**

Last April, when Clarke had found out that she and Bellamy would be sharing three of the same classes, not including homeroom, this semester, she had been overjoyed. Being in the same classes as her best friend? Finally getting a competent partner for stupid group projects? Getting a built in tutor for Physics, a subject he was surprisingly great at? 

That was before this summer, the bonfire, the kiss, and the crush.

Now, in August, she wondered if it was too somehow possible to switch out of all of those classes. Did she _really_ need AP Bio to get into college? Did she really need calculus? Physics, she could probably do without, because she probably didn't actually want to go to Arkadia University. She contemplated this for long enough that she missed seeing Bellamy slip into the classroom and sit down next to her. 

At least this time she didn't jump in the air.

Maybe if she didn't acknowledge that he was there, he would follow her lead.

"Clarke."

No such luck. She focused her attention on the board in the front of the room and pretended she hadn't heard him. It helped that everyone else was talking too.

“Clarke.”

She focused even harder.

"Clarke," he whispered again.

"We're not supposed to talk," she finally responded, without looking over at him.

"Everyone else is."

"Unlike everyone else, I'm paying attention to class."

"Nothing's even happening yet."

He had her there. "I'm not talking to you."

"For how long?"

"Forever, maybe."

"You can't keep that up forever."

"Try me."

He sighed, an edge of tension in it, but otherwise said nothing. She found that she was slightly disappointed. It didn’t last long. Once the class was assigned an impromptu worksheet and answer session, to be done with their table partner, and the room filled with noise again, Bellamy, his voice pitched low, said, “I’m sorry.”

She stiffened. "What for?"

"For not… not telling you about Gina."

She made a face at her worksheet, but didn't comment about it. Eventually, she gave in. Keeping her eyes on question four, she said, "Why didn't you tell me? It's not like I would've—I don't know, disapproved or anything." Gina was nice. She was pretty. She and Bellamy clearly got along. As long as he was happy, and he… sounded happy, from Harper's stories, then… then, of course she would approve.

"I…" He scratched his name onto his worksheet. "I don't have a _good_ reason."

"Then what's the bad reason?"

Bellamy stopped writing and took a long while to answer. When he did, it wasn't even an answer. "I’d rather not say."

Her pencil stilled. “Fine,” she said, because what else _could_ she say? If he was suddenly the type of person to keep secrets, then _fine._ He could. She didn't care.

"But it's not because I thought you weren't important enough to know or that you weren't _worthy_ or anything like that," he added, voice still hushed so that the other students didn't hear what they were talking about, but also buoyed by enough certainty in it that Clarke felt compelled to believe in it. Strangely enough, it also lifted the tension. 

She finally looked over at him and doing so gave him an opening to continue. "Look, the others… I didn't even tell them, okay? Jasper kind of caught us out one day and, well, you know how he is—and it got out of hand, and it became this whole _thing,_ when it wasn't even a thing in the first place. I mean, we're not even technically _dating_ or anything."

These words spun around in her head for a long minute, amidst the cloud of hope that settled over her. What did that even mean? 

"How can you be technically _not_ dating someone?" Harper had already told her about how Bellamy and Gina had been out around town all of August, about how she'd seen them making out once in the park, and how Gina had definitely been receptive to a double date with her and Monty. That had been more than enough information for Clarke, but it wasn't like she could tell Harper that.

"We're, well... we're," he rubbed the back of his neck, shrugged, "just hanging out, really. I guess that's the best way to put it."

"Just hanging out," she repeated.

"Yeah."

"That's bullshit," she stated, voice rising slightly, lowering again when someone's head turned towards them. "The answer to number seven, that is."

Bellamy laughed quietly, then coughed when she glared at him to shut up. Clarke wrote down the answer to number seven really quickly and then turned her attention back to him. "Does _she_ know that?"

"That we're not really dating?"

"Yeah," she said, biting the inside of her cheek. "Because if this is a whole misunderstanding thing, then you should probably clear that up. Like ASAP."

"Yeah, I'm sure she knows," he answered. "Or I’d hope she does, since it was her idea."

"What?"

"She doesn't want to put a label on anything."

"And," she didn't understand. It was like she was having an out of body experience, like some other Clarke was talking to Bellamy and nothing was making sense. "So you're okay with that?"

"I told you. We're just hanging out."

That wasn't an answer and Clarke didn't even know what to say to that. She didn't know how she felt about that. Confusion? Relief? Hope? Anger? All she did know was that this morning, she had found out Bellamy had a girlfriend he didn't tell her about only to find out that he just had a… _something_ he didn't tell her about. But she wasn't his girlfriend. And maybe that was the important bit, right? She could handle Bellamy with a _something._ A something could be nothing. Great. She was speaking in riddles. It was still easier to handle. It was.

"Oh," she nodded, like she totally got it. Not that she did, but she had to make him _believe_ she did. What if he just went on about how much he wished it wasn't just a "hanging out" situation? She'd probably have to open the window and jump out of it. "I guess that's cool."

"Cool?" Bellamy asked skeptically.

"Yeah," she said, with an air of ambivalence, in stark contrast to her dramatics earlier that day. "That's cool for you guys. That you're cool with it. You know."

He had a look on his face, quizzical and something else she couldn't name, and then laughed again, a light, airy thing. It sounded out of place on him. "Yeah, it's cool. So does that mean you forgive me?"

Truthfully, she had already done so the second he apologized. But he didn't need to know that. "Tell me what you get for question ten and I'll let you know."

Bellamy just rolled his eyes. 

*

**(HANGING OUT.)**

For two people who said they were just "hanging out," it looked a lot like they were dating.

That was what Clarke concluded about Bellamy and Gina, after five days of uncomfortably painful observation. (Uncomfortably painful for her; she was pretty sure they didn't know she was in observation mode.)

“You’re staring again.”

“No I’m not,” she denied automatically, dragging her eyes away from the pair guiltily to look at Monty. She hoped she wasn’t blushing. Not that there was anything to blush about. "I mean, who—what—would I be staring at?"

"Wow. You're the world’s worst liar."

She huffed. She was not. "Weren’t they going to sit by us?”

"They probably couldn't find us."

Or they _didn't_ want to find us, she thought. "Probably," she said. "I thought everyone stopped showing up for the welcome back assembly after year one." Why a welcome back assembly took place a week after school actually started was beyond her, but she had stopped trying to make sense of Jaha's mind a long time ago.

"We're still here, aren't we?"

"Well, _I_ have to be here. I have to show my school spirit."

"No one is going to run against you for president, Clarke," Monty said, and she huffed again. It was the principle of the matter.

"I don't mind if they do," she said, sounding rather scripted. "More people should take an interest in student government and—"

"And we know no one will. You've already got my vote."

That made her feel better. "Okay. Good." They fell quiet again, flooded by the noise surrounding them, and waited for the rest of their friends to show up. Inevitably, she started staring again, witnessing Bellamy say something that made Gina laugh. For something so innocuous, it definitely hurt a lot more than it should. Of course Monty noticed.

"You're doing it again." He sounded amused. She didn't know _what_ there was to be amused by in this situation.

"Did you know they're technically not dating?" Clarke blurted out, tearing her eyes away from them as Gina laughed again.

"Not technically?"

"They're just," she made air quotes with her fingers, "hanging out."

"What does that mean?"

_Exactly,_ she screamed in vindication to a Bellamy that didn't know she was talking about him. "I don't know. Like they're just… you know. Hanging out, talking to each other, I guess."

"And having sex."

Her stomach churned. "It doesn't mean they're having sex."

"It _probably_ means that."

"It does not. People can hang out and not have sex. You and I do it all the time!"

He made a slight face, which was a little offensive. The thought wasn't _that_ preposterous. Monty wasn't her type, but he was still cute, and a good boyfriend—to Harper, obviously. "Okay, we don't have any attraction to each other. Right?"

"Right," she said, eager to dispel a misunderstanding. "But I'm just saying. Hanging out is just like. Hanging out."

"Murphy caught them making out in the parking lot yesterday."

She felt her stomach drop. It was one thing to know that they were kind of together, but another thing entirely to hear about it, or see it, or be confronted by it in any way, shape, or form. Out of sight, out of mind was a saying for a reason. "Murphy should stop skulking around the parking lot."

"True. But they're definitely not just hanging out."

"They're still not dating. Technically. According to Bellamy."

"But they're _something."_

She shut up. He was right. "Yes," she begrudgingly admitted. "That's fair to say."

"Why do you care so much?"

"I don't," she said, tucking her hair back behind her ear and scoffing, "I just think it's weird. There's obviously something there," even if it annoyed her to say it, "and I mean, did you know that it was Gina's idea? About the whole hanging-out-but-not-dating thing."

"And?"

"And I don't know! Why wouldn't she want to? It's Bellamy. He's a great guy! He's smart and funny and kind and giving and stubborn, I know, but in the good way, usually, and he is _so_ good with people and so perceptive of what you're thinking and feeling, so you know he just wants—what?"

Monty was giving her a weird look, both curiosity and judgement all in one. "Nothing."

"No, what?"

"Nothing," he said again, but he was smiling, just a little uptick of his mouth that showed how much of a liar he was. "You're going to stress yourself out about this."

"I'm fine. I was just…" She fumbled for words and came up with nothing good, "...saying. It's weird, don't you think?"

"Yeah," he said, but placating. "Definitely weird."

She decided not to press any further. She didn't really like the way Monty was looking at her.

*

**(INDECISION.)**

The #1 stressor lately was her campaign for student council president. She, like every one of her friends, had assumed it would be an easy ride to the end, primarily due to the fact that there was no opposition. There wasn’t any, like there wasn’t any for any of her previous roles. And then Greg Holliday decided to throw his hat in the ring.

Greg Holliday was smart (top ten in the class), charming, and easy to talk to. He was the kind of person who could walk up to someone and immediately strike up a conversation and leave it with a basic knowledge of who they were. He was also, perhaps most importantly, popular. Without effort, people just _liked_ him.

Clarke didn't have that. She knew she wasn't great with people. She wasn’t a natural at making friends and generally had a hard time doing so. She never cared about that (much). She knew she could take charge and delegate, but she didn't know how to talk to people like Greg or Harper or Bellamy could. She was an organizer, obsessed with details, the kind of person who liked working alone instead of working in groups.

The last three years of high school had been leading up to this _exact_ moment, so it made perfect sense that she was going to _lose_ to Greg Holliday.

_No._ She was getting ahead of herself. There was just a big chance of it happening but not a guarantee. Which she could definitely work with. No one could ever say she went down without a fight. However, now that she was lugging around a heavy box filled with posters, flyers, and tape all by herself, she kind of wished they did.

"You need any help?" 

The poster slipped from her hand as she heard Bellamy's voice and she grumbled as she bent down to pick it up. "Why can't you ever just announce yourself, you know, like a _normal_ person?"

"Where's the fun in that?" He said, meeting her in a crouch of his own as he took the poster from her hands. _How_ that was helpful was beyond her. “You could’ve asked us to help you out, you know.” There was a tick of annoyance in his voice.

She _had_ asked Monty and Jasper, but they had Chem club every Wednesday and Thursday after school. Harper had work. Miller was off with his boyfriend like always and she had never been really close with him anyways, certainly not enough to ask for a favor. Murphy was out of the question, obviously.

And Bellamy—she had finally mustered up the courage to ask him, and ordinarily, there would have been no _mustering up of courage_ involved, because she would've just asked him, not even had to have asked him, but things were different now. He was always around Gina, even when he was around all of them too, and whenever Clarke was there, her stomach started twisting itself into knots and she would become hyper aware of her actions and movements and _everything,_ (because that was what happened whenever she liked someone, her brain unhelpfully added), so she barely knew how to behave around Bellamy (which was so _stupid,_ seriously, because what the hell), let alone ask him to help her do something as innocuous as helping her hang up some posters around the school, and what if he said no, and that would've been humiliating, or worse, _yes,_ and then she'd have to be alone with him for more than five minutes, and maybe she was just a coward.

(Well, she _was,_ but that wasn't the point.

The point was that she _couldn't_ ask him, and also… she had it all handled.)

"I have it all handled," she said, focusing very intently on taping up the poster. 

"It's going to take you forever to get all of those put up."

"Ye of little faith."

"And fact." He followed her down the hall. “Clarke?”

“Yes?”

Silence. “Have you been avoiding me?”

She nearly tripped over her own feet. “What?” She said nervously. “Why would I be doing that?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

She crouched down and rifled through the box, acting like she was in search of something, but was really using the opportunity to calm down. She _wasn't_ avoiding him, really, (couldn't) because she was still sitting by him in their classes together (yes, they were assigned seats, but that still counted) and they were still around each other since they were friends with the same people, but if she was busy this week and last, and she _was,_ that couldn't be held against her, could it?

"It's like you've totally forgotten how busy I am. Case in point," she eventually said, still digging through the box. At some point, she probably needed to actually _find_ something. 

"I definitely haven't, since you're never around."

"I'm around."

"For like two seconds. Hence wondering if you're avoiding me."

"I'm just busy. Seriously, with this election and my mom's campaign and the SAT retake next month," (though she didn't need to, but her mom didn't agree), "and homework and art club and writing essays for my college apps and trying to—"

"Okay, I get it. You're really busy," he said, but he seemed to buy it, or at least didn't pick it apart. He even had a joking smile on his face.

"I'm really busy."

"All the more reason to help," he chirped, joining her at the box once more and plucking a poster out of it. "You’ll stay here all night at this rate."

"It wasn't going to take me all _night_ …"

"Not anymore it isn't."

Frustrated, yet still charmed, she just sighed, grabbing the tape and ripping off a piece for him. "Thanks, I guess."

"You _guess_."

"Don't push it."

They put up a few posters down the hall in silence before Clarke decided on what to say. She didn't know why it was so hard to talk to him right now. She didn't know why a lot of things were happening. "Hey. Congrats on, you know, being popular and stuff. I _really_ wish I'd gotten your reaction."

She couldn't see him, but he was clearly blushing. "That's definitely not what it is."

"Homecoming court is essentially the popular table, Bellamy."

"It's a crapshoot."

"I'm not supposed to tell you this but you led the whole court in votes. Not even close.”

"That's worse," he said, groaning and ducking his head down. "It has to be some kind of joke, right? A conspiracy or something?"

"Save it, Bellamy," she said, smiling a little. "You should just come to terms with the fact that you're popular. I don't hold it against you."

"Says the girl literally everyone in the school knows."

"Says the guy who just arrived _last year_ and is going to become Homecoming King next week."

"Don't even put that out in the universe."

"I'm only saying what everyone is thinking. And knowing. Just accept your fate."

"Never."

"You're so difficult. Some people would _kill_ to have some of that luck. Like me, for example. I think I'll need all the help I can get."

"You're going to win," Bellamy said immediately, though no less emphatically. He sounded like he really believed it. It made her heart feel all funny when she heard it. "No one cares about this school like you do."

"Except I don't think anyone cares about that." 

"They do. More than you think."

"It's a _school_ election," she said, shaking her head. "People only vote for the people they like."

"You know you're not exactly Miss Outcast here."

"Compared to my opposition, I might as well be." She held up a hand, getting frustrated already as she tore another piece of tape and sloppily plastered it onto the wall. "Ugh. Thinking about it gives me hives. Can we please not talk about this anymore?"

“I like these posters.”

She glanced back at the one on the wall. It was one of her favorite ones, self-designed and printed by her mother's graphic design team. Finally Abby Griffin for Mayor was doing something useful.

“You do?”

"Yeah, they're great."

"You don't have to say that."

"Oh, sorry, they're bad."

She threw a piece of putty at him but he dodged it, laughing. "I really do like them."

"That counts, you know."

"As what?"

"An endorsement," she answered. "If the Homecoming King says that he thinks I'd be the better president, then—"

"Oh, please—"

"—it'll sway at least _ten_ people, probably. Maybe—"

"You don't need my endorsement, you don't need anyone's—"

"I don't think you really understand how stressed I am about this—"

"—and you're making too big of a deal out of this Homecoming thing—"

"—because I _know_ that it's just a school election and it doesn't matter, but even though I tell myself that, and I do, I can't make myself believe it! And you know what, it does matter! It matters to me! A lot!"

"Clarke—"

"—and I want to be president and I want to win and I want to put it on my application, yeah, but at the end of the year, I want people to say that I did a good job—"

Bellamy clasped his hands over her flailing ones, stopping her from speaking and gesticulating all at once. "Clarke," he said, soothing. Instantly, she felt calmer.

"What?" She said, voice small.

"There is no way you're not going to win."

"That's not—"

"There is _no way_ you're not going to win," he repeated, staring her down. "You're so smart and so capable and literally the only person in this school who has actually done anything to make it better. And people know that. You're always running around at all the school events, you got that tutoring service set up—"

"People just asked for one, I thought it was important—"

"The ice cream social? The pretzel day? Lobbying for another study lounge and actually making it happen? They've really seen that. Shit, Clarke, how do you not see that people look up to you? That they respect the hell out of you? That they _like_ you?"

"Bellamy," she started, now blushing madly. This hadn't been how she envisioned her day ending. His words wrapped around her like the easy comfort of her favorite, worn, baggy sweater, the certainty in his voice so unmovable and so constant that she knew she would replay this whenever she found herself in need of it. "I—thanks. I wasn't, I wasn't trying to fish for compliments, I didn't…"

"Too bad," he said, mock-stern. "I won't take it back."

He was still holding her hands. At the same time she realized this, he seemed to as well, pulling back hastily. "Sorry," Bellamy mumbled, picking a poster from the box and busily attending to it. 

She wasn't upset. She wasn't. "Thanks," she tried again, this time stronger and louder. "For helping me put up all of the posters. And. For the pep talk."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "You always said I was good at those."

"Eh, you're okay."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

"Oh, did you want me to say it again?"

"I can't hear you."

Clarke giggled and listened to him tell her about how Jaha had trapped him earlier that day just to congratulate him on Homecoming Court. By the time they reached the stairwell between the second and first floor, her poster box had been nearly emptied out. Bellamy was pulling out the last one, unrolling it and placing it over one of Greg's.

"You can't do that," she said.

"Why not?"

"I don't know. Sportsmanship?"

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

Maybe she should've put up more of a fuss. There was a split second where she thought about it, but it was only a split second, and it was easier to laugh and toss him the tape. "I'm denying it if he finds out."

"And I'll take full blame," he said, earnest. Carefully, he taped the edges down and smoothed out the paper until it displayed perfectly. Greg's perfect golden-boy smile had disappeared, replaced by the purple of her poster, the bright lettering bold and glittering against the background.

"There." He looked triumphant. Almost nothing looked _bad_ on him, but victory looked especially nice. "He's a dick anyways," he added, the tease in his smile, the joke on his tongue, and out of everything—the kiss, the dreams, the new-kinda-girlfriend, the fact that he had given up nearly an hour of his time after school to stay after and help her put up fifty posters—it was that sentence and that smile that told her she was fucked.

*

**(INFATUATION.)**

A crush she could deal with.

Crushes were fleeting. Crushes were temporary. Crushes didn't _mean_ anything.

This, on the other hand, was clearly not a crush. Not anymore, at least. Or maybe it had never been and she'd been lying to herself the entire time. Maybe Wells really did know her better than she knew herself, if he had known just from that moment that she had feelings for Bellamy.

God. Even just thinking made it sound too real.

To her credit, she didn't even panic. Okay, so she froze on the spot, eventually prompting Bellamy to wave his hand in front of her face and call her name, and when she snapped out of it, she laughed too hard at nothing, which then prompted Bellamy to ask if she was okay—but after _that,_ she was fine.

At least, until she got home and frantically called Wells, who was now the unlucky soul tasked with talking her off the metaphorical ledge. Not only did he now know all about the entire saga of Gina-is-not-really-his-girlfriend-but-basically-is, but he was also privy to five, and counting, complaints about how inconvenient this entire thing was.

"If she's not his girlfriend, I don't see why this is a problem."

"Because they’re still seeing each other.”

“They’re not _dating_ though.”

“It’s not that simple. And they're still _together,_ even if it's not officially together."

"You only think it's not that simple because you're making it complicated."

"It _is_ complicated!"

“You like him, he likes you, what’s there to be complicated—”

“First off,” she corrected him, “we don’t _know_ that.”

"Yes, we do. You _just_ said it."

"No, I said _I_ like him. He doesn't like me back."

"Clarke," he said, her name imbued with that kind of patience teachers used with small, misbehaving children. Which was offensive. She was almost 18 and very well-behaved, thank you. "He kissed you back. He likes you back."

She flopped back onto her bed with all the air of a dramatic fit. "That doesn't _mean_ anything, Wells! People kiss people they don't have feelings for _all_ the time."

"Not _all_ the time."

"A lot of the time."

" _Sometimes_."

"In any case, it means it happens!"

"Oh my God. Stop trying to find a hole in my evidence."

"I can’t help myself. It's right there. The point is… you can't base anything off that kiss."

"I realized that you had feelings for him off that kiss."

She pursed her lips. "That was a coincidence."

"That's true. I actually realized it _before_ that."

"You're just lying now."

"I am not! You were _so_ obvious, Clarke." He laughed on the other end. "The way you talk about him… God, I can't believe no one else has figured it out."

She sat up a little, most of her weight resting back against her pillows. "What do you mean? How do I talk about him?"

“Like you’d kill anyone who’d even _think_ anything slightly negative about him,” he answered, matter-of-fact.

Immediately, she scoffed. "I'd kill anyone who'd do that with _any_ of my friends. You think I wouldn't for you?"

"No, I know you would," he said, which placated her. "But it's different with him. I can tell it. In your voice." It was scary how much she believed that.

"I can't tell anything from his voice." She sighed loudly. "I hate this. Did I mention that I hate this?"

"Just a few times."

"Not enough times. I _really_ hate this."

“I know that having feelings is something you like to avoid, but I still think you’re exaggerating here—”

"That's because you don't _get_ it, Wells."

"It'd help if you _explained_ it."

Clarke sighed again, this time in frustration. How could she just _explain_ it? "I've never _had_ any feelings for a friend before. Everyone I've liked before, we weren't friends when we started dating. I didn't know them like I know Bellamy. I was never around them as much as I am with Bellamy. I don't even think… I don't know… that I liked them the way I like Bellamy." Her mouth tightened into a thin line after she confessed this, the revelation slipping out of her so naturally she understood that it must've been laying dormant for her all this time. "Which makes it so much worse!"

“Clarke—”

“What’s going to happen if he finds out, huh? We’ll just be awkward around each other and it’ll strain our relationship, and I don’t think agreeing to forget it never happened would solve things this time. I mean, even if it did for _him,_ it wouldn’t for _me._ Because I know I’d never be able to take it back.”

“So what, you’re just going to keep it a secret forever until, what, you graduate?”

“Maybe. I could.”

“Even though you have absolutely no idea if it’ll _actually_ make anything worse with you guys if you tell him.”

“Did you not listen to _anything_ I just said?”

“I did. But those are your fears. They’re not facts.”

“You don’t know.”

“That’s the point — we don’t. Which means _you_ don’t, either.”

“Wells,” she snapped, tired of his obtuseness. His eternal idealism almost always inspired her—to a point. This was that point. “I _do_ know. I do know because if he did like me back, he wouldn’t be with Gina, in any way, no matter what he's calling it. It wasn’t even two weeks after I left that they started their—whatever they’re insisting it is. And he didn’t even tell me about it. Which, whatever. The point is… the point is, he likes her. And he’s happy. I see that on him. You can say all you want that he feels the same way, but I’m the one who has to see him every day and I can tell you he doesn’t.” Her voice got shaky before she forced herself to clear her throat and stabilize it. “And yeah, that sucks. But do you know what would suck more?”

“What?” He asked, chastised.

“If I threw away our friendship because I thought it was a good idea to add my _feelings_ into the mix.” 

She thought about Bellamy’s smile, the way it curled up when he was pleased, the way it blossomed when he was really happy, and the way it would fight against himself when he was trying not to laugh at one of her bad jokes. She thought about all the times that he gave up his free time to help someone, about how big his heart was, and how generous and caring he was, once you got to know him. She thought about the secret, silly jokes they shared, and the memories they’d built together in the past year. She thought about losing all of that and thought, _no._

“All right,” she heard, a reluctant admission, “I understand. I don’t _agree_ with it, but I get it.”

“Good.”

“Can I say something though?”

“Can I say no?”

“Nope.”

“Then what is it?”

“You deserve to be happy too.”

She laughed out loud, relieved that Wells had decided to drop the previous topic. "I know. And I am. Really and honestly. I know it doesn't sound like I am..."

"I'm just worried…"

"But it's going to be fine. I'll be fine." She almost fully believed it too. Lightly, she added, "Who knows? Maybe I'll get over it in about a week."

"You think so?"

"No, but it doesn't hurt to be optimistic."

"Hey, I've heard that before."

"Yeah, this guy who lives in England loves saying it."

"You forgot to mention that he's incredibly smart and handsome. And the best guy you know."

"Hey, I already like one of my best friends. I don't want to complicate anything else."

"You're _so_ funny."

"I know," she laughed, feeling much better than she did two hours ago. "Enough about me. You never finished telling me what happened at that party."

*

**(HOMECOMING.)**

Bellamy Blake and Breeana Fallon were crowned Homecoming King and Queen during halftime of a losing game. The only person who was surprised was Bellamy and it was plain as everyone could see, first in the sheepish way he walked towards the center of the field, then in the dazed look on his face that stayed there even after he accepted the sash, the crown, and held out his arm for Bree to take. It even stayed on during the photos.

"He looks stoned," Jasper snickered, taking pictures of his own. They were definitely never, ever, ever letting Bellamy live this down.

“Yeah, he looks like that time you showed up late for the Parents Fair,” Monty agreed.

“Hey! It wasn’t my fault I forgot about it!”

“It kinda was…”

They quickly descended into bickering so Clarke ignored them, keeping her eyes focused on Bellamy, Bellamy who was shying away from the crowd that had begun to swarm him and Bree, Bellamy who was then stopped for more pictures. She had to smile. No matter how stupid of a title it was, no matter how much Homecoming _didn't_ matter, how much it _was_ just a popularity contest, it was nice to see Bellamy win. It was nice to see people like Bellamy that much, or enough, to vote for him. 

"I'll meet you guys down there," she said, even though she wasn't sure Monty or Jasper even heard her. If they did, they didn't break from their argument. But she knew eventually they’d stop and follow her down the bleachers. 

Clarke made her way down, weaving through throngs of people gathered near the field, most of whom were just standing around talking to each other, and pushed past the crowd of people swarming the Homecoming king and queen as they walked off the field. Bellamy was posing for another picture so she stood to the side, waiting until he was finished. God, how was his smile still the best thing to look at?

As soon as he was finished, she approached him. Slow on the uptake, he didn't notice her until she had snuck up behind him, tapping him on the shoulder. Armed with a big smile and the ever familiar, excited beat of her heart, she launched herself at him without warning, pulling him into as tight of a hug as she could. He didn't miss a beat, even though he was surprised at her quick action, and wrapped his arms around her. Despite the chilly nighttime air, she felt warm and content. 

She kind of hoped that someone was taking pictures of this.

When they pulled apart, she felt her heart skip again. He looked so _happy_ to see her. No, she reminded herself, stop going there. So she hadn't gotten over her feelings yet, but it had only been a week. There was time. In the meantime, she'd learned to compartmentalize it. As long as she remembered nothing was going to happen between them, it was easy. (Well, it wasn't _easy,_ and it certainly wasn't any easier when she saw him look like that, but she was capable of it and that was what mattered. It was the little things that counted, after all.)

Clearing her voice, both to hide her internal emotional panic and to stop _thinking_ about it, she said, and stepped back a step or two, "Told you so."

He chuckled before groaning. "Yeah, that's definitely not going to get old or anything."

"I knew you'd like that."

"What gave it away?"

"It's called reading between the lines, Your Highness."

Self consciously, he touched his crown, the fur trim heavy on his curls. It looked ridiculous and amazing on him. "How long are you going to keep that up?"

"Aren't you _still_ calling me Princess?"

"It suits you a lot more," he stated, and before she could say anything contrary, he lifted the crown off his head and placed it on hers. It was a bit too big for her head, tilting forward, but Bellamy adjusted it, forcing it to rest more naturally. He finished by brushing some hair off her forehead, the motion of which felt more like a feather-light caress than a practical maneuver. She was holding her breath.

Fuck.

Compartmentalizing was never going to work at this rate.

"There," he proclaimed, voice quieter. "That's better."

This wasn't fair.

"You can't pawn this off so easily," she finally said, thankful for the air of playfulness she managed to infuse in the words, even though her heart was pounding so loud she was _sure_ he could hear it. "This is yours. You won it fair and square."

“Fair and square is overrated.”

“Now try saying that with a straight face.”

He laughed, tapping at the crown. "You don't give the orders around here, Princess. Hey. Hold on."

"What?" 

Bellamy fished his phone out of his pocket and reached over to adjust the crown once more, using that opportunity as a distraction to take a picture of her. 

"Hey," she protested, grabbing for his phone though he kept it out of her way. "I wasn't ready."

"Too bad," he said, looking at his phone and smiling. "Don’t worry, it looks nice."

"You're just saying that so you can use that to embarrass me later."

"There can be multiple reasons for everything, Clarke. But if it makes you feel better, you can take a look at it yourself." He turned his phone screen around and let her see the picture. It wasn't _great,_ but she could see how an argument could be made for it being _nice._ The crown slipped slightly to the side, her hair flat under the weight, but the ends were wavy, and her expression was open with surprise. Her eyes looked nice, that ocean blue she always liked about herself, and the background was lit up by the bright lights of the football field, which cast a glow about her. 

"See?" She heard, driving her out of her contemplation. "I was right."

"It's _okay_ ," she said, refusing to let him win. "Don't exaggerate. And take this back.” She lifted the crown off her head and held it out for him expectantly. After a reluctant sigh, he took it and placed it back where it belonged.

“I would never.”

“Of course you wouldn’t, Mr. Dramatic.”

"Me? Dramatic?"

“Don’t play coy, Homecoming King. You know you’re the most dramatic person in the world.”

“Now _that’s_ what I call an exaggeration.”

“Only the most dramatic person in the world would try to deflect that.”

“That doesn’t even—”

“Hey Bellamy,” they both turned around to find three girls giggling shyly, blushes on their face, and phones in their hands. “Can we take a picture with you?”

“Oh, uh,” he said, blinking in slight panic. Clarke suppressed a laugh, decided to step in.

“He’d love to,” she said, shooting him a sly grin. “I’ll take it for you guys.”

They actually _squealed_ when she gestured for them to come closer and their blushes intensified after they posed for their pictures. If only she didn’t understand that _so_ completely. Bellamy Blake was a force of nature. She wasn’t quite sure he could never not be one.

Before the girls could leave, though, he stopped them. “Wait,” he called. “Can you take a picture of us?” 

"Of course!"

It turned out to be more than one picture (the girls insisted) but Bellamy was warm and solid and _right_ against her (she was still _human_ ), so even Clarke had to stop (halfheartedly) protesting. By the time the girls made their leave—after two more selfies with Bellamy, still giggling, like Clarke wasn't even there—the football teams were streaming out of the locker rooms, piling past them onto the field.

"I guess we should—"

"I need to—"

Both of them started and stopped at the same time. Laughing, he motioned for her to continue. 

"We're sitting up there. I know Monty and Jasper want to fawn over you."

"You mean make fun of me."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Ha. Well." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'd love to, but uh, I—can't."

Oh," she said, frowning. "Why not? They don't have you doing anything else, do they? I already see Roma in the stands."

"No, uh, nothing like that. It's just—I'm picking Gina up from work, so we can make it back for the dance later."

Reality came crashing in. It wasn't like she had forgotten about Gina, because she _couldn't,_ not when she was so aware of every little thing she was doing around Bellamy in light of their relationship, but for the past fifteen minutes, she _had_ — after all, she hadn't been around and there was almost a bubble around the two of them. For fifteen minutes, it was as if everything was as it was before, even with her newfound realization of her feelings, even with how carefully she was treading. But it wasn't like it was before. Bellamy had to go pick up Gina so they could go to the Homecoming dance later. Duh.

"Uh, Earth to Clarke?"

"Sorry," she said, blinking out of her thoughts. "I thought I saw the mascot doing something weird." It was a terrible lie, but it sounded fine. "I _suppose_ I'll just tell Monty and Jasper that they can make fun of you later."

His grin seemed out of place. "Thought they wanted to fawn over me."

"Same thing."

He took his crown off and ran one hand through his hair, messing it up so it looked more like his usual style. "I'll see you guys later then." Bellamy paused. "Yeah?"

She managed a real smile. "Yeah, duh. Go, before you get waylaid by more of your fans."

There was a bit of a grumble from him, but he said his goodbyes and turned to leave. 

Clarke couldn't help but feel so, _so_ stupid.

*

**(RECKONING.)**

October snuck up on them. It was as if they had been frozen in time for the end of September and someone had woken them up just in time for the student elections tomorrow.

That was, of course, a very singular feeling, contained to just Clarke C. Griffin, but she digressed. It was happening _too_ soon and _way_ too fast for her own comfort. She still had so much to do. It was all her fault too, being so unprepared, since all she'd done the last two weeks was agonize over her _feelings_ when she could've been preparing for the election. She basically had it coming.

She'd already skipped lunch to work on her speech, but she needed the extra time to refine it. Were words always this hard? Did she even know how to write? Why did everything sound so _awful?_ And was it too late to just give up?

"Why are you hiding in the stacks?"

Great. Just what she needed. Bellamy looming over her, ready to distract.

"It's the only quiet place in this school," she muttered, forcing herself to read her last sentence over again.

"So you decided to lay on the floor, which is disgusting, by the way, instead of sitting in a chair?"

"It's more conducive to my thinking." Though clearly not, as the last half hour had proved.

"You know what else is more conducive to your thinking? Actually sitting at a desk."

Clarke groaned, letting her forehead drop to the paper in front of her. "Please go away. I'm trying to focus."

She heard the sound of footsteps, loud, then fading as he followed her order. Oh. She hadn’t meant it.

Something fell to the floor. A package of cookies. Her head snapped up.

“You weren’t at lunch,” Bellamy said disapprovingly. “You can’t think on an empty stomach.”

“I had a sandwich earlier,” she informed him, lying a little. It was a sad, peanut butter sandwich, and hardly filling. Nevertheless, she folded herself back up to a sitting position and opened the package. It was probably useless to think anything more was going to get done now. “How did you find me?”

"The freshmen won't stop whispering in the halls about the weird senior girl they tripped over in the library."

"Only _one_ person tripped. And it was their shoe's fault."

"Who needs shoes?"

"Right? These cookies are good."

"Now I _know_ you were lying about eating something earlier."

"I didn't have any time," she admitted. "And I _did_ eat something."

"Not enough."

"You're such a mother hen."

"I don't see you denying it."

"Thanks for the cookies," she said instead, and handed one to him. He accepted it. "But you don't need to keep me company."

"I have a feeling I'm getting kicked out." He took another cookie from the package and she didn't stop him. He _had_ brought it to her in the first place.

"I'm not kicking you out. You just can't be here when I break down in about twenty minutes," she said matter-of-factly. "But the cookies can stay."

So naturally, he plucked the cookies out of her grasp. "What's this about?"

"Hey, give it back. They're mine now."

"I will once you tell me what's going on."

Huffing loudly, she crossed her arms sullenly. "You go first."

"I don't have anything to share."

"Yes, you do."

"Like what?"

"I don't know," she said, staring him down. "That's what you have to tell me."

Bellamy was silent for a second but it soon gave way to an impressed smile. "How did you know?"

Easy. She pointed at the cookie package. "You _never_ eat those unless something's wrong."

“God, they’re really disgusting, aren’t they?”

“So?” She said expectantly. “Tell me.”

It was his turn to huff in exasperation. "Gina dumped me."

Whatever she had expected, and honestly, she had no idea _what_ she _had_ expected, it was nowhere near the answer he gave. 

"Are you even listening to me?"

That did it. "What?" She said, faint at first. "When? Why?"

"Who and how too?"

"I'm being serious," she snapped, taken in by how overwhelming this piece of news was. Gina and Bellamy had broken up? _She'd_ broken up with him? "When did this happen? What did she say?"

He shrugged. "After lunch. And she just said we should stop, you know, our thing. I agreed."

"But... why?" She spluttered, trying to search for something hidden in his words, in his face. "Weren't you guys good? Happy? It doesn’t make sense. Did something happen? Was there a fight? Did you have a fight?" The questions rattled off her tongue in quick succession, leaving him no room to answer, and worse yet, they sounded _eager,_ at least to Clarke's ears, they did, and she had no way to rein it back.

"That's a lot of questions."

"You're not giving me much in the way of answers."

"There's not much to say."

"You got _dumped,"_ she said, incredulous, "and there's _not much to say_?"

"Okay, you don't have to say it like _that."_

"You said it first!"

"I really don't know what else to say," he said, still so nonchalant. It was like he didn't even _care._ She'd understand it if he was hiding it behind a facade, but it didn't seem like _that_ was the case either. "She didn't want a relationship. I didn't think—I don't think I'd be a very good boyfriend to her anyways. It wasn't going to work."

That made her stop. “Why do you think that? You would be a good boyfriend. You're sweet and caring and make things really fun all the time." Not that she'd thought about it or anything. "All good qualities. You know."

He was quiet for a minute. "Maybe. I don't know. Not with Gina, though."

"Why not?" Why was she questioning this?

"Our feelings are just different at this point. It's okay."

"Because…" She felt a twist of dread in her chest and had to push past it. "You wanted to date and she didn't?"

To her surprise, he laughed, something that had never sounded nicer than in that moment. "No, that's not it. Honestly, neither of us _wanted_ to date. I meant that. I like Gina. A lot. As a friend. She's cool, fun. I don't feel anything more than that." Clarke was wrong. This sounded even better.

She had to work to make sure she wasn't _gleeful_ about it. It was good news to hear, but Bellamy was still her _best friend._ She had to be there for him. "I'm sorry."

"For…"

"Well, it's still a breakup of sorts. Even if it's not official."

"Oh, Clarke. It's fine."

"It doesn't have to be. And you don't have to pretend it is, if you are pretending."

"I'm not pretending. Honest."

"I don't know if I believe that."

He smiled, chuckled a little dryly. "Nothing gets past you."

She couldn't return the smile. "How are you?"

"Fine. Is that bad?"

"Depends on if you're really fine or not."

He thought about it for a moment and then came to an answer. "Yeah, I think I really am. I saw it coming. And," he added, "you know. Still technically not dating. And you don't believe me."

"You don't have to put on an act around me."

"I'm _not._ I really think I'm okay. We're still friends."

"You're still friends."

"We're still friends."

"With your ex."

"It's not like we ended things badly. Of course we still want to be friends."

She stared at him a little too long, but in her defense, that was the strangest thing she'd ever heard and all she _could_ do was look incredulously at him. She had _never_ been able to be friends with her exes. (Then again, her exes… they weren't like Gina.) "Okay," she said slowly, unable to keep her skepticism out of the word. "If you say so."

"There's probably nothing I _can_ say to make you believe me, is there?"

"Nope. But at least you know you're the weird one."

"Wow," he said in mock offense. "I get dumped _and_ insulted all within two hours?"

Why it didn't process earlier, like when he'd announced it, she didn't know. Maybe it had taken her by too much surprise. Maybe it just took a while to sink into her system. Whatever the reason was, Clarke didn't fully understand the reality of what he had shared with her until this moment—and then it became completely clear that Bellamy Blake was officially, technically, single.

In a way, although she _hated_ it, although it turned her stomach to imagine him with someone else, although, despite her best efforts, it made her so _jealous_ to see him with someone else, there was a certain safety in Bellamy being with Gina (no matter the technicalities). It was one thing to have feelings for her best friend and another, entirely, to actually _do_ something about them.

Honestly, _was_ she supposed to do something about them? 

“Okay, maybe you _do_ need to eat something other than these cookies…”

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, right as she turned her attention back to him. 

“I’m not really mad about that,” he said, amused. “I was just making a joke—”

“Not about that,” she clarified. “About Gina. And you. Breaking up.”

“You already said that.”

“I know, I know. But I had to say it again. I’m still sorry. It always sucks to be dumped.”

Bellamy was quiet for a while, almost disconcertingly so, particularly coupled with the gaze he kept on her. 

“What—"

“Thank you,” he finally said. “That means a lot.”

“It’s nothing, I mean, you’ve always been there when I—”

“Will you just accept my thanks for once?”

Clarke bristled, but nodded. “Those cookies always make you cranky.”

“They’re _awful.”_

“Then why did you get them?”

“Well, you like them.”

“Oh.” She did. “Thanks. And give them back.”

“Nope,” he said, keeping the cookies out of her reach. “Your turn. Why the whole secluding yourself in the library and skipping lunch thing?”

She heaved a heavy sigh and picked up the piece of paper that had been tossed aside though not forgotten (never forgotten, how could it possibly be). "My speech," she declared. "My terrible, _terrible_ speech, that, once I give it, will make me the school's biggest laughingstock."

"You always underestimate yourself."

"Pot, kettle much?"

"We're talking about you right now," he said, making a face at her. "Why do you think it's terrible?"

“It just _is._ It makes me sound like I’m trying too hard. _I_ feel like I’m trying too hard.”

“You _are_ trying too hard.”

“Yeah but I don’t want everyone to _know_ that!”

He gave a little laugh before raising his hands up in appeasement once she glared at him. "Do you want to practice it on me?"

"Like read it out loud to you?"

"Like you would tomorrow. Pretend it's time for you to give your speech and Greg Holliday's totally crashed and burned—"

"That's not a fair scenario."

"Pretend he's given the speech of his life then."

"Why can't he give a completely medium speech? Like it's not magnificent, but it's also not awful."

" _Okay_ then. He's given a completely medium speech and told everyone why he's running and why they should vote for him and now it's your turn."

"I already hate this."

"Too bad. I'm setting the scene."

"And how do you fit into this scene?"

"I'm silently cheering you on," he said, grinning. "So just pretend that's where you are right now and give your speech."

"I…" she looked down at her speech, and bit her lip. "But…"

"What is it?"

"What if you hate it?" 

"Then I won't tell you."

"Thanks a lot."

"I'm _kidding_ ," he said, placing his hand over hers as a gesture of reassurance, she was sure, but his touch only made her nervous. She jerked her hand away and coughed. He didn't seem to think anything was wrong. Good. "I'm not going to hate it."

"You haven't heard it."

"Yeah, but I've read everything else you've written. I know how good you are at this. I'm not going to hate it."

Hearing that gave her more of a shot of confidence than any amount of adrenaline could've. She could see the faith he had in her in his eyes; not only that, she could _feel_ it. Clarke took a deep breath and began her speech.

Maybe it was because it wasn't really _real,_ or maybe it was because it wasn't as _terrible_ as she had believed it to be, or hell, maybe it was just because Bellamy was there, with his strong, comforting presence, but it sounded so much better than she had thought it would be. It was so easy, too, to give the speech, adding inflections and gestures and little pauses for effect and laughter (which Bellamy provided, and she was pretty sure it wasn't forced), and she could feel the stress glide off her by the end. There were still some small things that needed to be revised, some wording she had to fix, but for the most part, it was… _good._ It really was.

Bellamy agreed, judging by how shit-eating his shit-eating grin was.

"You are _never,_ ever allowed to doubt yourself again," he said.

"You liked it?" It was a useless question, but a part of her needed to hear it directly.

“Are you kidding me? I loved it. It’s fucking—” he lowered his voice sheepishly, remembering that he was in the library, “it’s really great, Princess. You’re so good at this.”

"You really think so?"

"Would I just say that?"

"No," she admitted, curling the edge of the paper. "I know you wouldn't. But… you really, really do?"

Bellamy, undeterred from the last time, reached over and grabbed her hand, covering it completely, his thumb pressing down over hers. "I do. You're gonna knock 'em dead, Clarke. They won't know what's coming."

_I like you so much,_ she thought, almost desperately. 

She almost said it. She could feel it threatening its appearance, could feel the words forming at the base of her throat, could feel her mouth itching to speak the words. Something caught in her throat. 

No. What kind of person, what kind of _friend_ would she be if she threw herself at him just an _hour_ after his kind-of-girlfriend broke up with him? What kind of person would she be if she dropped that on him without thinking it through? A fucking selfish one, that's what. Especially after all he'd done for her, today _alone…_ she'd be worse than the worst kind of person.

With difficulty, and a lot of effort, she pulled the words back, transformed them into something better, easier. Her hand curled around his, squeezing it tightly. "If I win—”

“When.”

" _When,_ " she amended, biting down a smile, "I'll be sure to thank you first."

"That's all I want," he said. "How do you feel now?"

What a loaded question. "A little better," she answered.

"Just a little?"

"It's a process." She paused. "I mean, I'd feel a lot better if you gave me those cookies…"

"Well played."

"A promise is a promise."

"You got me there."

He handed them to her with his free hand—and it did not escape her notice that he was still holding her hand (okay, so she _was_ a little selfish)—and they spent the rest of the period sitting there, trading gossip about the science teachers, and for twenty minutes, Clarke lied to herself and told herself this was all she wanted.

*

**(COLLEGE KIDS.)**

The annual Arkadia High College Fair was an _Event._

Schools in the area, up and down the coast, and even a few from across the country attended, and due to the size of the event, it was always held in the ballroom of Arkadia's government center. That was where Clarke currently was, directing the rest of the student council, along with the few of her friends she'd managed to persuade (Bellamy)/cajole (Harper, Monty)/threaten (Jasper, Miller) into helping out, to where they were needed in setting everything up. (Even Gina was here, although she had not needed to convince her. She’d _volunteered,_ which had surprised her. All the paranoia that she knew about Clarke’s feelings for Bellamy and worse, resented her for it, amounted to nothing. Gina Martin was as nice as she was the first day she met her. Of _course_ Bellamy managed to stay friends with his ex.)

Last year, she'd focused mainly on impressing the college reps, picking up the numerous pamphlets and brochures, and making a list of schools she was considering.

This year, thanks to her new student body presidency, she was in charge of making sure everything was ready.

For anyone else, it was not a fun job. For Clarke, well, there were certain merits to it.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Harper accused, after they finished hanging up a banner. From her vantage point on top of the ladder, she surveyed the rest of the ballroom.

"Oh yeah, I totally love spending my afternoons ordering people around," she said, climbing down just as Bellamy walked past carrying a table with Miller. “Well, actually…”

"Don't think I don't know what this is all about," she said, giving her a knowing look.

"Spreading the joy of the college finding experience?"

"Using this as a reason to check out Bellamy."

Clarke nearly dropped her clipboard. "Be quiet," she hissed, her head whipping back and forth as she made sure no one overheard them. _“Why_ do I tell you anything?”

“The better question is why did you take so long _to_ tell me! I can’t believe I didn’t know until like a week ago!” Harper’s smile was wolfish, more delighted than hurt, and it looked like Christmas had come early for her. “And also how have you been dealing with this alone for so long?”

"I haven't been "dealing with" anything," she corrected, voice low and furtive. "And can you keep your voice down? Or, even better, stop talking about it! He can hear you here!"

"What if I talk about it where he _can't_ hear?"

"No!"

“I’m just _saying_ it makes _perfect_ sense when I think about it! I don’t know why I never put it together before you told me—"

“I didn’t _want_ people to put it together.”

“I always _thought_ that there was something though.”

“You did not.”

“Did so! I literally started wondering last year!”

“What? How? I didn’t have any feelings for him then!”

Harper gave her a look that clearly said, _yeah, okay._ “Yeah, okay. You probably just didn’t realize it yet. But I could tell. On both sides, by the way!”

Clarke had been writing a note on her clipboard before she paused and looked back up at Harper. “Both sides?”

“Clarke,” Harper laughed, clearly having seen something amusing on her face, “Shut up! You cannot be blind!”

“That’s kind of mean…”

“You know Bellamy likes you too!”

“Of course he does,” she said demurely. “We’re best friends.” 

That earned her a sharp pinch. “Ow! What the hell!”

“Don’t play dumb!”

“I’m _not!_ I meant it! He likes me, duh, because we’re friends!”

_“Friends_ don’t look at you like he does!”

“Oh, like a friend?” Another pinch. “Stop that! God!”

“I will when you stop being obtuse!”

“I’m _not_ being obtuse! I don’t see anything different than usual!”

“Oh my _gooooooooddddddddddd_ ,” Harper whined, walking away for a second before she walked back. “You’re sooooo—”

"Hey Clarke?"

Both of them turned around, Clarke more panicked than Harper. It didn't _look_ like Bellamy heard anything. Unless he was just _acting,_ which was a very real possibility since he _was_ good at it. 

He tilted his head. “Where do you want these chairs?”

It was much easier to use this to change the subject away from Harper. She'd probably start dropping heavy hints in the next minute if she didn't. "I'll show you!" Harper looked like she wanted to laugh. At least she didn't actually laugh. "It's actually a weird set up, so if you could follow me…" _Far, far away from here,_ she added to herself. Once they were far enough away from the rest of them, she turned apologetically to Bellamy. "Sorry you have to do this on a Saturday."

"I don't mind it," he said, poking his head from behind the cart of chairs he was pushing. "I mean, you _did_ promise us pizza, right?"

"What happened to doing this out of the kindness of your hearts?"

"What kindness?"

It was hardly that funny, but she still laughed. Maybe the first indication she should've picked up on about her feelings was that she was always finding him funny, even when he wasn't.

"For that, I'm getting olives for yours."

"After I did this out of the kindness of my heart?"

“I never promised it’d be pizza you _liked_.”

"Fine by me. You're the one who has to explain it to Jasper when he finds out."

"At which point I'll blame you."

"You're a cruel president, Clarke Griffin," he said, shaking his head, but smiling. "Now how do you want these chairs set up?"

She showed him the map on her clipboard and they started getting everything in order. It was, like everything else associated with this, a _Process._ Halfway through the room, she decided it was high time for a break.

Bellamy tossed her a water bottle before he collapsed into a chair. "I'm expecting the biggest pizza for this, just so you know."

“I know, I know,” she said, finishing placing the place cards for the tables around them. “You guys are seriously the best for doing this. Especially you. You’re not even attending the fair.”

"That's not true."

"What's not?"

"I'm attending it."

Her forehead knit in confusion. "Your name's not on the list."

"Check again."

Quickly, she pulled out her phone and loaded the list of attendees, refreshing it and scrolling down until she saw the more recent names, one of whom was Bellamy's. Surprised, she looked up at him, though he was very intent on not looking at her. "When did…"

"A few days ago."

"I didn't think this was your thing." In fact, he had made himself expressly clear that he wasn't thinking about college anytime soon, not while his mom was working so many shifts and his sister was still in middle school (though what _that_ had to do with _his_ future, she never really understood), and after a very testy conversation, she'd learned to drop the matter. It wasn't really her business, anyways, or so she had to keep reminding herself.

"Yeah, well, my best friend's kind of the organizer? And I figured she'd appreciate the attendance," he said, playing at blasé and landing on affectation. He gave up on that quickly. "I've been… thinking about college lately. I guess. Don't look like that."

She really did try to tug her smile down. “Really?”

"Yeah." He was playing with his hands, which was distracting in another way, and she had to force herself to look away. "I was thinking… I don't know, maybe some online classes. Part time or something. You don't have to look _that_ shocked, you know."

"I'm happily surprised. There's a difference," she retorted. "And I think this is great. Really, really, really, _really_ great."

"It's not that big of a deal," he mumbled. "It's probably just U of A."

"U of A is a good school."

"Compared to Harvard?"

"Compared to _anywhere._ It has a great business program, it ranks consistently in the top 15 for liberal arts in the area, its retention rate outpaces—"

"—do you just have that _memorized_?"

She flushed, but turned her chin up defiantly. "So what if I do?"

"You are _such_ a nerd."

“It’s helpful information to know!”

"If that's what helps you sleep at night…"

"Ugh. You're one to talk."

"I don't have anything like that memorized!"

"You edit Wikipedia pages! For fun!"

"Once! Because it was completely inaccurate!"

"Like that's helping your case?"

"Shut up."

She snorted. After a moment of watching Jasper chase Monty around, she spoke again, "Whatever you end up doing… you're going to be great at it."

He gave her a side glance, but it was not devoid of curiosity. "Even if I flunk all my classes and have to join the circus?"

"Hey, I bet you'll become the world's greatest acrobat."

“You’ve got way too much faith in me.”

“Nah, just enough.”

*

**(THE BIG 18.)**

“Are you home yet?”

“If I was home, I definitely wouldn’t be complaining to you about how I’m not home yet.”

“So no?”

“No. Ten more minutes.”

“Good. I mean, how was Harvard?”

“A lot better after my mom had to duck out to prep for her debate.”

“Really?”

“She was basically there to schmooze with the alumni. I’m pretty sure she forgot I was there.”

“I’m sure she didn’t forget…”

“No, there's no way she didn't. At one point, she saw me again and looked surprised I was there. I was just eating canapés!”

“Maybe she was judging your taste in canapés. What the hell are canapés?”

“Amazing things you need to try.”

"I'll see if the History club wants to splurge for those for the next meeting."

"If they do, I'm crashing it."

"I keep telling you that you can just _come_ to the meeting."

"But then I'd be a history nerd. No thanks."

An eyeroll through the phone. "Anyways. Are you home yet?"

"Oh my God, you're so annoying." She _was_ turning into the entrance towards her cul-de-sac, but he didn't need to know that. "Maybe I'm not even going home. Maybe I'm going to New York. Maybe I'm _already_ in New York—" Her headlights illuminated her driveway, where a group of people, a group very familiar to her, since they were her _friends,_ were standing, Bellamy at the head, his phone to his ear. "What are you doing?"

"Park your car and you'll find out."

She did, but slowly, still half-gaping, half-laughing at the sight of everyone gathered together. "Why are you guys _here?_ On a Sunday night?"

They answered her by bursting into song, the _happy birthday to you_ drawn out, loud, raucous, unharmonious. Jasper belted out the words, Harper was hilariously off key, and Bellamy was the loudest of them all, enthusiasm overpowering the fact that his talents did not lie in the vocal realm. Clarke loved it. She flushed under the attention, hiding her face behind her hands to both stifle the giggles and to stave off the embarrassment. 

"Oh my god, you guys," she said, once they finished, facing matching grins all the way from Jasper to Bellamy. "I said I didn't want to do anything!"

“This isn’t doing something,” Bellamy said. “We just coincidentally met up in the same place and coincidentally remembered it was your birthday today and coincidentally decided to surprise you.”

“Wow, what a coincidence,” she shot back dryly. 

“You can’t kick us out!” Jasper chimed in. “We brought cake!”

She had no serious plans of doing so, but she pretended to think it over. “What kind of cake?”

“Chocolate raspberry.”

A beat. “Okay, I guess you guys can stay."

They needed no more encouragement than that, immediately swarming in after her once she opened the door to her house. Since her mom was still at debate prep, the interior was eerily quiet and much too big after a weekend away. It was a fairly standard operating procedure by this point. 

That feeling went away fast, thanks to a powerful combination of Jasper's antics, chocolate raspberry cake from Saint Anne's Shop, and a truly terrible movie they found on Netflix that they started playing on the TV the Griffins barely used. 

She was on her second slice of cake. Everyone else had left by now, except—

"I knew you'd like that," Bellamy said, coming up behind her. Guiltily, she licked the frosting off her finger and shrugged.

"You don't play fair."

It took him a second to respond. “Well,” he said, sounding strange, “it was the only way you’d let us celebrate your birthday.”

"How long have you been planning this?" She asked, taking another swipe of the frosting. "Because you can't have been masterminding this for a while."

He handed her a fork. "Why can't I?" 

"Because you can't keep a secret from me for that long."

Unlike her, who _was_ keeping a secret from him and was planning to do so for as long as it was necessary.

"Shows how much you know," he said. "It's been in the works for a whole month now."

"Seriously?"

"We _were_ going to do it at school on Friday, but then _someone_ had to go on a trip to Harvard."

"Not my fault they scheduled their open house the same day as my birthday."

"Kind of your fault." She scoffed with no heat behind it. "I, uh," he paused, uncharacteristically timid, "so I kind of got you something."

She perked up. "More cake?"

“An entire cake wasn’t enough?”

“I had to share it with everyone.”

"God forbid."

"Okay, stop teasing. What did you get me?"

"I left it in my car, so… hold on—"

"No way, you can't get away that easy."

"I'm _not,_ I'm going to get it."

"Then you won't mind if I follow you, will you?"

He half-sighed, half huffed out an exasperated breath. "Okay, but you can't bring the cake."

That was a sacrifice, but she left it on the counter and followed him out of the house, pulling her jacket tighter around her to ward off the breeze that blew by.

Once they reached his car, parked farther down the cul-de-sac, Bellamy clammed up, pulling into himself, uncertainty in his voice. "I mean, it's really not that much, and if you don't like it, it's no big deal, so don't feel like you have to like it or anything if you don’t…”

“Bellamy,” she cut in, slightly amused, mostly charmed. “Just show me please.”

He opened the door, fishing around the glove compartment, and eventually pulled out a small envelope, which he handed over to her, as if it was some negotiation. "Don't get your hopes up," he said gruffly.

She made a big show out of examining the envelope, smelling it, shaking it, squinting at it, enough that Bellamy rolled his eyes, a smile returning back to his face. When she did open the envelope, her eyes widened. “Are these—” She turned them over and scanned over the words. “Oh my god, Bellamy.”

“It’s not that much.”

“Tickets to the art exhibit coming to town next month? Seriously?”

"What? You don't like it? I thought you were talking about it—"

"Bellamy," she waved the tickets in front of their faces, unable to keep her grin to a controllable level. "It's been sold out for weeks! What did— _how_ did—oh my god!"

"So…" he said, like the dumbest boy in the world, "you like it?"

She laid out the tickets on the hood of the car and smoothed them down, even though nothing had happened to them. Looking at them, she was still stunned. It'd been crazy how fast the tickets had sold out. No sooner had Clarke begged her mom to let her go had the tickets been snatched up. Although it wasn't the end of the world, it'd still been upsetting to see that. But now, she _had_ tickets. Thanks to Bellamy, she would be able to go. She threw her arms around him, hearing the little _oof_ he let out, primarily for show. She didn't even hug him _that_ hard.

His words were murmured into her hair. “I’m so glad you liked it.”

"You didn't con anyone out of their tickets, did you?"

"I think I'm flattered that you think I would be able to con anyone."

"You're a smooth talker, Bellamy Blake."

He laughed, which made his chest rumble. She took the opportunity to press even closer. It was a hug. That was allowed. "I didn't con anyone. Just got lucky. Turns out the parents of the kid I tutor are big givers to the theatre."

"I hope your payment wasn't these tickets."

"Ha. No. I don't like you that much. They were just extra."

She pulled back and slapped at his chest. “Jerk. It’s my birthday, you know.”

“Oh, _now_ you’re going to claim it?” 

“Yes, so you have to be nice to me.”

His fingers, anchored on her hips and back, started tickling at her sides. In between her laughter, she heard him say, smugly, "That's what the tickets are for."

Trying to retaliate, she twisted in his arms and attempted to pinch his elbow—the one place she knew he was most sensitive—but to no avail. At least, not at first. A particularly vicious twist of her fingers got him to stop—the look on his face, an insulted glare, was more than enough payback. "I think you've got a skewed idea of friendship, pal."

"But I read a thing on the Internet."

"And you should always believe that."

Bellamy snorted, loud, should-be-unattractive-but-wasn't. "Why would they lie?"

"Oh, I don't—" She blinked at him suddenly, finally registering their proximity, with his hands still placed on her hips, and hers resting against his stomach. Her voice slipped away from her. And she'd been doing so _well_ about this—

"What?" A beat, just before he seemed to come to the same conclusion as she had, his eyes falling between them, and then rising back to her face. Neither of them said anything for what felt like so long. But neither of them moved either, not until his hand drifted towards her neck, ghosting over her collarbone. She might've arched into his touch. She was weak, okay? She was just weak. "So—"

"Shit," she said suddenly, breaking the moment—whatever it was, if it had been a moment—the exact moments headlights advanced upon them and she noted whose car it was that had just pulled into the cul-de-sac. "That's my mom."

His hand dropped. He took a step back. Shakily, she exhaled. What was that? “Not supposed to have company?” He asked distantly. His head had craned backwards, observing the car as it got closer. It passed by them without stopping, heading straight for the driveway, but she knew Abby had seen them. She knew there was going to be a Lecture later. "Did we get you in trouble?"

"No, but now I'm going to _have_ to do Birthday Dinner with her."

He let out a small laugh. It eased the tension in the air, just a little. "The horror."

“I guess she means well.”

“She does. Usually.” There was a rustle of movement. “I should probably go.” That snapped her attention back to him. He wasn’t meeting her eye, not at first, busy with some spot on the car. She swallowed hard, the feeling of longing stuck in her throat. 

“No, you don’t have to—”

“I don’t think your mom would like it if I tagged along to dinner,” he said, a wry grin forming on his face. “Especially if I'm there to play buffer."

"But you're so good at it."

"Judging from the last time… I'm gonna pass." He ran a hand through his hair and reached for his car door, lingering there. “I’m gonna go then.”

_Please stay,_ she thought. 

“Okay, um, text me when you get home?” She said instead. If she was more confident, more spontaneous…

"I can probably manage that."

"You better."

He opened the door and got into the seat, peering up at her as she stood over him. "Let me know how dinner goes?"

"That just means I'm going to text you every ten minutes asking for an escape plan."

“At which point I’ll just tell you to suck it up and climb out the window.”

They shared a smile, and then he looked away, starting the car. He nodded a goodbye and she stepped back, waving at him. Right before he drove away, she hastened forward, knocking against the window. He looked inquisitively at her as he rolled it down.

"Just…" She paused. "Thank you. For the cake. And the surprise. I don't really… like my birthday, but it wasn't so bad today."

"Wasn't so bad."

"Might've been pretty good even."

“It wasn’t just me, you know. Everyone else also wanted to surprise you.”

She smiled. As if she didn’t know whose idea it really was. “I know. And I’ll thank them tomorrow. It’s just…” Deliberating for a second, she pushed away every thought as she darted forward and pressed her lips to his cheek. It lasted for only a moment, but she could feel the heat from her own cheeks and she could barely look at him when she drew away, her eyes cast down and to the right and to the left—to anywhere besides Bellamy. She was a coward. 

"Thanks again!" She shouted behind her before running towards her house, fueled by embarrassment and regret and a little, just a little, glee all wrapped in one. 

Clarke replayed the moment over and over again until she finally fell asleep—and even then, it lurked at the edge of her dreams. 

But at least that wasn't new.

*

**(DECISION DAY.)**

**(OR, THE FIRST DAUGHTER OF ARKADIA.)**

Two hours into the party, Clarke locked herself in the coat closet. If she had to listen to _one more_ person ask her how it felt to be the new mayor’s daughter, she was going to throw a drink in their face. She might’ve done so already if she hadn’t been warned heavily that she needed to be on her best behavior. 

She always knew this day was coming, ever since Abby had announced her candidacy—no, ever since she found out Abby was _thinking_ about running for office (there was no doubt she would win whatever she ran for)—but to have the day come was an entirely different experience. It was now a reality. It was everyone fawning over her and pulling her along to meet someone Important and cooing over her as if she was five and not eighteen. It was them expecting her to be the ditz, like she ever was, the daughter who couldn’t be happier for her mom because she was the _mayor_ now and who wouldn’t want to be the mayor’s daughter, the first daughter of Arkadia? And it was suffocating.

Enter the coat closet.

As far as hiding spaces went, it was pretty nice. It had to be, since nothing about the Kane Business Center could ever be classified as _bad._ Abby Griffin had specifically chosen this venue for her official election party—not to be confused by her election watch party, which was held on Election Day and had seen her sweep into office by almost a landslide—for how fancy it was. She wouldn't have admitted it, but Clarke knew. 

She hid there for twenty minutes before someone caught her—or rather, stumbled against the door, resulting in a loud thud, followed by—of course—giggling.

"Is it locked?"

"No, I'm sure it's just stuck—"

More giggling, then silence, though it was clear they hadn't left. Clarke grimaced. This was an _election party._ How did people find it at all sexy? She gave it a few minutes, sure that if she stayed very still, they'd give up and leave.

No such luck. The doorknob jiggled again.

"I'll get someone to open this," the muffled voice asserted, obviously showing off.

"We can go somewhere else—"

"No, no, this should stay open—it's a coat closet, for God's sake—"

Clarke rolled her eyes, but got up from her place on the bench and smoothed out her dress. It was blue. Her dress, she meant. It was a nice dress, but it was an old one, which Abby had not liked, but it was going to be that dress or no dress, so she caved. They were nearly running late anyways. 

She took a deep breath before opening the door, startling the pair outside. It was her mom’s campaign manager's 31-year old son, Daniel "Call me Danny," whose shock turned into what he probably thought was a charming smile, and a girl who _had_ to be her age. Men sucked.

“Sorry!” Clarke said brightly and falsely. “I was looking for my coat and I guess it locked behind me!”

"You don't have your coat," Call-Me-Danny said, stepping away from the other girl to get closer to Clarke. She didn't have it. She hadn't brought one. "Do you need help finding it? I'd be glad to be of assistance."

"That's… sweet." She caught the girl's eye and had to stifle a giggle at the eyeroll she shared. "But I'm fine!"

He seemed to agree, his eyes roving over her with a leering smirk that led to a sharp rebuke of, “Fuck off, Daniel.”

“It’s _Danny_ ,” he started to protest, but she’d already begun walking away—and so had the other girl. “Wait, where are you going?”

"It's none of your business!"

Over his objections, Clarke used the cover of the party to slip out one of the side exits. She waved a quick goodbye to the catering staff loading up their vans before getting into her car. 

Bellamy picked up on the second ring. “Aren’t you supposed to be at a party?”

"Parties are supposed to be fun, right?"

"It wasn't fun?"

"A party to celebrate my mom becoming mayor even though this was the very last thing I wanted to happen shockingly wasn't fun, no."

"Hey, I wasn't the one who planned it or made you go."

She bit the inside of her cheek. "You're right. I'm sorry. What are you doing? I hope you're having a better night than I am."

The rich timbre of his laugh warmed her. “I just got about a dozen eleven year olds to sit down to watch a movie, so I feel pretty good about myself.”

“What?”

“I’m babysitting Octavia’s sleepover, remember?”

Oh, right. “I thought your mom was doing that.”

“Work. It's not so bad. They're pretty good kids."

"That's what they _want_ their friend's cool older brother to think."

"So you're saying I'm cool."

"I'm saying _eleven year olds_ may think that."

“That’s good enough for me.” She could hear him adjusting the phone. “Do you need an emergency call?”

“Like my mom would buy that. I already ditched. I'm in the parking lot hoping she didn’t notice.”

“She’s definitely going to notice if she sees you in the parking lot, Princess.”

"Not if I hide."

"Or you could go home?"

"She'll find me there eventually."

He laughed again and again, Clarke smiled. "Well, if you want to come here… we have a lot of pizza."

Bellamy would've invited her anyways but it didn't make her heart _not_ skip any when she heard it. "What kind of pizza?"

“Nothing with olives on it, I swear.”

She grinned, even though he couldn't see it. "Okay, you've convinced me. See you soon."

*

**(SLEEPOVER.)**

“I said I’d clean up.”

“You’re the guest. The guest doesn’t clean up.”

“I’m the guest who crashed over, so yes, the guest does clean up.” To prove her point, she began collecting the greasy paper plates, stacking them on top of one another. Twelve year olds, she found, were very bad about eating the crusts off their pizzas. So many of them were only half finished. The cheese sticks, she noted, were all gone though. She dumped the plates into the awaiting trash can. “I remember when I was 12.”

“Insufferable? That hasn’t changed.”

“Dick.”

“Shh. There are kids out there.”

“They’re sleeping.”

“It’s 12 am, they’re definitely not asleep yet.”

“Trust me, Bellamy, they’re asleep.” She poked her head out of the kitchen and did a cursory observation of the gaggle of girls currently zonked out in front of the movie they’d left playing on the TV. “And I was right. Also I don’t want to be the one to break it to you but they’ve _at least_ heard the word ‘dick’ before.”

Bellamy made a face before closing an empty pizza box. “Don’t say that. I’m going to pretend it’s not true for at least 20 years.”

She laughed at him. “Good luck with that.”

“Your support is all I need.” He gestured to another box. “Another slice?”

“No thanks. I’m so full. Turns out four slices _plus_ hors d’oeuvres for an hour _might_ be pushing the limits of my appetite.” Clarke walked over to join Bellamy by the counter where he was currently twisting the caps back onto the sodas. Despite the sucky way the night had started, this was good. Her mother was pissed off at her, but Clarke was selfish enough that she was okay with that. She’d much rather be here with Bellamy cleaning up from a sleepover than being forced to make small talk with donors and supporters and who knows who else. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Bellamy said, a little abashed. “Pizza can’t really live up to hors d’oeuvres, but…”

Sternly, she replied, “The hors d’oeuvres were fine. The pizza was better.” This wasn’t exactly true. The hors d’oeuvres were _really_ good, but it wasn’t staying at that party for another minute good. She liked the company here much more.

“Sure, liar.”

Sheepishly, she giggled. “Do you know the kinds of people I had to schmooze with? People twice my age who brought dates that were _my_ age.”

“Gross.”

“I know. So I’d much rather be with you.” She blinked. “Here. With you.” Good going, Griffin. Very smooth. “You’re the only person I’d allow to make fun of me for being the mayor’s kid.”

He smiled. “You’re the second most important woman in Arkadia.”

“That’s a bit of a reach.”

“Nope. Second! If you start a coup, though…”

“Oh yeah, my mom will love that. She was busy all night but somehow, _somehow,_ she still had enough time to keep an eye on me. I’d be at the table, sitting for like five minutes longer than I should, and she’d appear and whisk me away to talk to a donor. All. Night.”

“You should’ve tried hiding in the bathroom.”

She laughed again, but it was a little bitter. “Guess what? She sent someone in to get me the one time I did.” 

“Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah. I mean, I’m… happy for her—”

“Clarke.”

“I _should_ be happy for her.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because…” she started, drawing a circle on the counter next to her. “She’s my mom. And this is what she’s wanted forever. She’s talked about nothing else since I was like, 5, or something.”

“But it’s not what you wanted.”

“No,” Clarke admitted, “but it’s not even for any _real_ reason. I essentially just don’t want it because I don’t want people to treat me differently. Or think of me differently. Even more so than before.”

“Clarke, I—”

“I didn’t mean you. I’ve already put that in the past, you know that.”

“Then…”

“The people at school. They already don’t like me because I'm the superintendent’s daughter.”

“I’ve _told_ you—they _like_ you. They respect you!”

“Love how you downgraded that.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m teasing,” she laughed, patting his hand. "I don’t _need_ them to _like_ me. I just… wish they forgot about my mom when they see me. They’ll never do that _now_. I’m the stupid mayor’s stupid kid.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“Aren’t I?”

“Clarke, c’mon.”

“I don’t mean it,” Clarke sighed. Frustrated, she ran a hand through her hair. “I just don’t want her to be the mayor. And that makes me so selfish! I’m being selfish. I know that!”

“That doesn’t make you selfish. It just makes you a person.”

But she continued. “My whole life I’ve just wanted to be just Clarke. Not Dr. Griffin’s daughter Clarke, not Mr. Griffin’s daughter, not the daughter of the engineer who died in that _tragic_ accident, not the superintendent’s daughter.” She shook her head, slightly frustrated, letting out an aggrieved breath of air. “I don’t even know who I am outside of that sometimes.”

Bellamy shook his head. “You’re Clarke.”

“Thanks Bellamy. I actually do know my—”

“No, not that. You know I don’t mean that,” he cut her off, stepping closer, clearly determined. “You’re Clarke. You’re the girl that never gives up, no matter what it is. You’re resourceful, ambitious, funny as hell. You’re so smart, so _creative,_ but more than that, you’re so… kind. I feel like a lot of people miss that.”

She reached her hand out to stop him, feeling a little funny, lightheaded all of a sudden. But he continued. “You’re always looking out for others. All the time. You put everyone else first. Who else can say that?”

_You,_ she thought, a little helplessly. He was looking at her so intently now.

“ _That’s_ who Clarke is to me.” She shook her head, feeling a little pre-teary, laughing a little. 

"Bellamy, I was just complaining, I _know_ I'm not all those things. Like, you make me sound so… _good._ I'm not."

"Right," he said, smiling slightly. "You're stubborn as hell. You're petty, you're vindictive at times. And I know you can be self righteous about _everything,_ believe me, I know and I've been at the end of it. And I’ve deserved it. And you still annoy me a lot of the time, like when you beat me on every test, and you're so aggravating sometimes too—" 

She rolled her eyes. 

" _But_ you probably care more about anyone… about anything than everyone we know? You're someone who gives second chances and you don't regret them. I mean," Bellamy shrugged, raising an eyebrow, "unless you do." 

Clarke smiled, grabbing his hand, flipping it over and grasping his palm by his thumb. His hand engulfed hers but she liked the contrast. "Of course not. I've never regretted anything with you."

He was looking at their hands too, for a second, at least, until he pulled his gaze up to meet her eyes. "Nothing?"

The air had changed. The distance had changed. Bellamy's entire stance had changed. Clarke's breath caught in her throat. "No," she whispered.

"I hope you mean that," he said quietly, still looking, always looking. The pad of his thumb caressed her skin and she felt her fingers twitch. 

She shifted a little so that she was leaning back against the counter. For leverage? She didn't know. "I mean everything I say." She tilted her head up towards him. "And do. You know that."

"I do," he said, stepping a little closer. Was there any space left? "Look, Clarke—"

There was a crash that came from the living room. It effectively broke the spell over them. "What was that?" She asked, trying to peer around Bellamy. "Is someone hurt?"

"I—" Bellamy looked over his shoulder and then back at her. "I'll go check? I guess. Yeah." Unbidden, her shoulders dropped in disappointment. He looked over his shoulder again and started to pull away, changing his mind at the last second, because he had not pulled away, but had actually tilted her chin up to meet him halfway, her surprise swallowed by his insistent, promised kiss. She actually squeaked a little. 

"I will be _right back_ ," he said quickly, once they pulled apart, and before she knew it, almost as quickly as the kiss had happened (and it _had_ happened, she knew that for certain), he left, mumbling something under his breath she couldn't catch. Clarke was so glad there was the counter behind her; she had to hold onto it in her ensuing daze.

Her hand, the one that had been holding onto his, went to her lips, hovering over them. It had happened. It was real.

She blinked and he was back, running his hand through his hair, looking annoyed and harried. Before she could ask, he strode over to her in just a few steps (five, she recalled later), cradled her face in his hands, and kissed every word and sound out of her mouth. She could only hold onto his wrists, standing on her tiptoes to press closer, her whimper lost in the sweep of his tongue into her mouth, and she let him walk her back towards the fridge (which she realized was the fridge only when she felt the cold surface meet her dress-clad back), only aware of Bellamy Blake kissing her. _Kissing her._

He pulled away, eyes wide, lips swollen. He said, funnily, because it didn't matter _at all,_ in the grand scheme of things: “Missy tripped on the chair they _insisted_ stay there on her way to the bathroom. Thankfully she didn’t wake anyone up.”

She bit her lip. He noticed. "I… who's Missy?"

"A girl in Octavia's year. Plays soccer with her."

"Okay."

His thumb caressed her cheek. "Yeah. So. Do you regret that?"

She was all ready to say she didn't, because of _course_ she didn't, of course she _couldn't,_ but she didn't say that. She ended up blurting out, "This wasn't out of pity, was it?"

"Clarke, what?"

"Because I was… feeling bad for myself earlier? I…"

"Clarke."

"So no?"

He kissed her again. 

"Okay," she said, dazed, smiling.

"I did it because I wanted to, Clarke." He pulled back a little to look at her. "And you look really nice tonight. Did I say that already?”

She looked down at her dress and then back up at his face. "Yes. It's blue."

"Like your eyes."

She smiled.

This time, she kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE ALMOST THERE, FOLKS. ONE MORE CHAPTER TO GO.


	4. PART FOUR.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

**IV.**

**(MORNING AFTER.)**

Clarke woke up all tangled up in sheets that weren't and didn't smell like hers. She rubbed her eyes sleepily and squinted at the sunlight streaming in through the window. The rest of the room came into clearer view after a bit. 

It wasn't hers. She didn't have blinds on her windows or that bookshelf in the corner. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes.

And then it all came back to her. The election, the party, the pizza with Bellamy. The kiss, the second kiss, the third kiss, the fourth, the making out, the very serious attempts to be quiet as they walked past the sleeping teenagers in the living room to get to his room, the making out again, the falling asleep before they could do anything else. Not that she was _going_ to. They hadn't even gone on a _date_ yet. A heavy blush crossed her cheeks. She had to hide her face in the covers for a moment, just to compose herself.

Of course, that was when Bellamy walked into the room. His room, so that made sense at least.

"Hi?" he said.

She hid her face for another minute. What happened to the almost-bold Clarke Griffin she'd been last night? _That_ Clarke Griffin was capable of letting Bellamy slip his hand up the skirt of her dress, skimming along her thigh (though she was glad it went no further; again, not even a first date yet). _That_ Clarke Griffin had not even been embarrassed by the noises she had made when he kissed down her neck. _That_ Clarke Griffin wouldn't be hiding her face like this. In the light of day, everything felt so much different, but it was… a good kind of different. She hoped.

With that thought to bolster her, she summoned up that almost-boldness she had possessed last night. "Hi," she said, pulling the covers down so that she could see him standing in the doorway. "Good morning."

“Good morning. Sleep well?" He had a small smile on his face. Like he didn't know how well she slept.

Jerk. "It was okay," she said, breezily, like she was the kind of girl who was good at _breezy_ after she had just made out with her best friend that she really, really, really liked. She was cool. She was chill.

His smile grew. "Your phone’s been going crazy all morning, by the way.” He gestured to her phone, sat on the side table.

She grabbed it and sighed. This was her own fault, but still. “I need to call my mom.”

“Everything okay?”

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry," she said, giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "Definitely my fault. I should've gone home last night."

He leaned against the doorway. "I'm glad you didn't."

She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from sounding _too_ enthusiastic. "Me too."

They stared at each other, both with matching smiles on their faces, until Bellamy started to laugh, just a little and gestured out the doorway. "Everyone's gone home, by the way. Octavia crashed some more in her room. There's breakfast if you want it."

"Pancakes?"

"There might be some pancakes."

"I love you," she said automatically. "Um. You know. Like I always do. You know?"

He laughed again. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. Call your mom?"

She made herself laugh with him, hoping he couldn't see the blush from the distance. As soon as he left, she hid her face back in the pillow and told herself to calm down. What the hell was she doing? She had to call her mom. She had to call her mom and stop _freaking out._

Abby picked up the second time she tried her number. "Clarke? You're supposed to be home."

"I know—"

 _"One_ text message to let me know you were leaving and just another one to tell me you're at Bellamy Blake's house? Conveniently leaving out the fact that you were going to stay overnight?"

"Mom, I'm sorry, I fell asleep before I could let you know—"

"Do you know how worried I was?"

"I _know,_ Mom, I'm trying to explain—"

"Where are you now?"

"I'm still here at Bellamy's, I just woke up, look, can you let me explain first or are you—"

"I want you home this instant, Clarke," Abby said, her tone of voice brooking no argument. "Since you skipped the party last night, you have to join me for the community luncheon today."

"I didn't _skip_ the party, I was _there,_ I just left early!"

"And didn't let me know until you had already left. Clarke, I mean it. You're coming to that luncheon. We're leaving in an hour. I want you ready in forty five."

"Mom, seriously—"

"Clarke Curtis Griffin."

"Abigail Curtis Griffin."

"Come home."

She thought about arguing some more, but decided not to. Her mother had a point—it had been shitty of her to just bail on her like that _and_ she hadn't let her know about staying over at Bellamy's. She was sure her mother probably thought she had been having wild sex all night. As if. 

"I'm leaving right now, Mom. I'll see you soon."

"Wonderful. See you soon."

Clarke threw her phone on the bed and groaned, flopping back with her hands over her face. She'd wanted the day to talk to Bellamy, to figure out what things were like between them now, to see if they were on the same page. The last time they'd kissed, they'd ended up pretending it didn't happen. She refused to have history repeat itself.

This granted her a sense of urgency, of mission. She ran her fingers through her hair, combing through it enough that she was probably presentable, wished she could do something about her breath and the whole sleeping in her makeup thing, resigned herself to not being able to, and found Bellamy scrolling through his phone over the kitchen counter, whistling to himself. 

"Hey," she said, interrupting his whistled song. "Can I get a rain check on the pancakes?"

He looked over at the pancakes on the table. "You gotta go?"

"Yeah, um, my mom's really pissed at me. And I have a luncheon thing to go to? Mayor's daughter and everything."

"You're going to be kept so busy," he said, smirking. "What are you… doing after that? Assuming it doesn't last all day."

"Nothing," she said quickly. "I'm free. The rest of the day."

"We could… do something?"

"Yeah," she grinned, ducking her head, "yeah, I'd love to… do something."

"Cool."

"Yeah." She scratched at her arm and then jerked her thumb behind her. "I have to go now before my mom kills me! Yeah!" Bellamy came forward, stopping by the door as she went to grab her bag and remaining things. Her dress was beyond wrinkled now. Once she gathered everything, she met him by the door. "Thanks for letting me come over last night. And for letting me talk and complain and everything. And for letting me sleep over too!"

"Clarke, anytime. You know that."

"I do." She darted forward to hug him, very briefly, because she knew if she lingered any longer, she would not be able to leave in time. And yet, when she pulled away, she still didn't leave. She couldn't leave, not until she said what she needed to say. "Also. I just wanted to say…" She looked up at him, powering through the nerves. What did she have to be nervous about? He'd just had his hands on her boobs last night! 

"I really, really, really like you. As more than a friend? And have for a really long time. And I know this is the worst time to say it and I wish I could just stay and talk to you about it I do really have to go and it's not because I _want_ to go or anything, it's just that my mom will _actually_ have my head for it if I don't go home and show up at the lunch, but like, I've been so scared to say anything to you because when I came back from London, you were with Gina, I know not _with with_ Gina but it counted, okay, and it hurt a lot and then when you guys were done, I didn’t tell you because I kept getting scared off thinking about how I didn't want this to ruin our friendship but I don't really care about that anymore? I know it's easy to say _now_ but it's honestly, genuinely, terrifyingly not. But like, I can't not say it anymore, I can't keep pretending, and I want to keep kissing you and I want to date you and I want to just be able to stop being nervous all the time around you, and obviously, obviously, you don't need to do anything, especially if you don't and maybe this was all a mistake but if it's okay with you, I hope we don't pretend this didn't happen again because it was bad enough the other time—"

He kissed her quiet.

“My turn.”

She nodded.

“I thought I could convince myself out of my own crush on you by seeing Gina,” he said, though she barely heard him. She really wanted him to kiss her again. “It was shitty of me to use Gina like that, I know, but she had her own issues she was trying to ignore too so I don’t know—no, I know that was shitty of me. But I didn’t think you felt the same way until… I guess I kind of wondered a few times.”

Blushing, she asked, “Was I obvious?” She had been obvious.

“It was more like… I wasn’t sure if I was projecting or not. It felt like there was something on your birthday? That kinda thing.”

Clarke remembered how close they were, leaning up against his car, his hands on her. Her blush intensified. Again, _he’d nearly unclasped her bra last night._ She needed to keep that in mind. “I’m kind of a coward.”

“Then so am I.” She ran a hand over her face and groaned, embarrassed. Crushes were the worst, even when they were now realized. 

“I wish I’d been brave enough to tell you sooner,” she said, peeking through her fingers. He gently lifted them off her face and flattened them onto his palm.

“I have a question instead.”

“Yeah?”

"Do you…” He ran his thumb over her knuckles. “Do you want to go on a date with me, Clarke? Because I really want to go on on a date with you."

"Yes,” she rushed out without further thought.” Thank you."

Bellamy started laughing. "Thank you?"

Clarke grimaced, pushing her hand against his chest. "Shut up. I'm having trouble thinking."

He grinned. "Are you _sure_ you have to leave?"

"Do you want me to die at my mother's hand?"

"Not particularly, no."

"Then I do. But I'll text you as soon as I'm done. Okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be waiting."

"I like the sound of that."

"I was hoping you would."

*

**(MONDAY.)**

Monday arrived far slower than she wanted it to arrive. That was not something she thought she'd ever say, but the luncheon had run late and then her mum had essentially grounded her for the rest of the day, so the last time she'd seen Bellamy, they'd kissed while she had morning breath. She was not going to let that be his last memory of her. That was unacceptable, even if he already liked her.

She didn’t see him at all until she reached her locker and found him waiting there.

There was no other way to describe her reaction except… _giddy._ She was actually giddy to see him. She was acting like she'd never seen him before or like she'd been separated from him for months, years even. Clarke told herself to calm down, to approach him like normal. Like everything was still normal.

There was a moment where Bellamy leaned in to kiss her and then, must've thought twice of it, because he didn't. He just stopped in mid-air and didn't even pretend to be doing something else. She felt the swoop of hope and then disappointment all in one second. Then again, it made sense. It was one thing to do that at his house, but was she allowed to do that at school? Were they at that point? They hadn't actually had a _date_ yet. They had only had about twenty minutes to actually _talk_ about things. She laughed a little and focused on her locker combination, fucking it up three times before she could get the door open. 

"Were you waiting for me?"

"Well, I don't ordinarily make it a habit of standing by pretty girls' lockers every morning…"

"Ew, gross," Clarke laughed, for real this time. "Do not pull that with me, Bellamy."

"What? What am I pulling?"

"Flirting with me like that! I don't want you to use one of your lines that you use on all the other girls on _me._ You know how bad I think your lines are."

"There aren't _all the other girls_ ," he said, reaching over to grab one of her books out of her hands. "And I wasn't using a line on you, I swear." A pause. "Hold on, it's not that bad!"

"See! You _were_ using a line. Do not use a line on me!" Clarke plucked the book out of his hand and laughed again, shutting her locker door and leaning against it. "You don't need to use lines on me, anyways."

"I really _was_ waiting for you."

"We have homeroom together. And several classes?"

"I was going to walk you to homeroom too."

"Cute." She really did think that was cute. "Hey, hold on."

"What?"

She tugged him down by his collar and kissed him quickly, smiling into it when she could feel him do the same. "I wanted to do that earlier."

"Then why didn't you?"

"I didn't know if it would be weird."

"It wouldn't be weird. I don't think it's weird."

"Are we a kissing by the lockers kind of… us?"

Clarke thought about it, liking the idea. "I don't think the idea sounds bad."

"Then I'll keep that in mind for the future."

"Good."

They started walking towards homeroom, close enough that they could hold hands, but not actually doing it. Clarke was actually glad that they weren't; her hands were so sweaty. She didn't want him to hold a sweaty hand. "Do you think people are looking at me weird today?"

"Don't they normally look at you all weird?"

"Ha ha. They're giving me the mayor's daughter glance."

"What's that look like?"

"Kinda like the normal one, except more judgemental."

"I think you're reading into things."

"I've never done that a day in my life."

"Oh, I know you haven't. You didn't even know I liked you." 

She gasped. "You didn't know _I_ liked you!"

"So I guess we're both idiots."

"Well, as long as I'm not the only one."

They arrived at the room and he gestured for her to go inside first, following her to her desk and loitering beside her as she sat down. "Hey, so do you want to do something after school?"

"Yes. Obviously yes.."

"Cool," he said, grinning, right as the bell rang and the last stragglers came streaming into the room. He brushed his hand against hers as he left so she couldn't hide her smile when Harper sat down in her regular seat next to her.

The other girl took one look at her, one look at Bellamy, and said, "Hey, Clarke. So um, earlier, I was getting my things from my locker and I _swear_ I saw you and Bellamy…"

"Yep," Clarke confirmed, sneaking a look over at Bellamy, who met her eyes and smiled back. 

"Wait, are you serious?"

"You saw us kiss and you're asking if I'm serious?"

"You _kissed_?"

"Isn't that what you were going to say?"

"No!"

"I thought that's what you were going to say!"

"I just saw you guys together and it looked different! There was a whole different vibe!"

"Oh," she laughed, feeling herself blush. "Um, yeah. We, um, kissed. Not just today either."

"Oh my God!"

"Harper, you're making a scene."

"OH MY GOD! YOU KISSED?"

"Harper," she hissed, elbowing her in the side, so, _so_ thankful that despite her yelling that, it wasn't loud enough that it pierced the noise of a Monday morning homeroom meeting. "Shut up!"

"Okay, okay," she said, at a loss for words. "But we are _so_ talking about this at lunch."

*

**(IS IT COOL THAT I DID ALL THAT.)**

In a true comedy of errors, Clarke remembered much too late that she had a student council meeting after school that day. She told Bellamy that she'd meet him as soon as it was done, but then Bellamy was called into work. Things progressed like that for the rest of the week, so much that by the time they were actually able to do something, _actually_ do something, it was Saturday. 

It was Saturday and she was on a _date_ with Bellamy Blake. A _Date._ They’d decided to keep it simple: dinner and a movie. Classics were classics for a reason. 

Dinner had gone well.

The making out in his car before the movie was better. Sure, the backseat _was_ cramped and the seatbelt buckle kept digging into her elbow every time she tried to move, but it was less and less important by the second, especially with the way he had his fingers digging into her hips. He was saying something, or trying to, and it took Clarke half a minute to wrap her mind around the words.

"Do _you_ want to go in and watch the movie?" She asked, pulling away to look down at him. She giggled and wiped away some lipstick away from his mouth.

"What movie is it again?"

"I think that big one everyone says is awful."

"You chose a movie that everyone hates for our first date?"

"I didn't want expectations!" 

"What expectations would I have with a good movie?"

"That the next movie would also be good! And also that you'd get lucky."

"I _am_ getting lucky right now."

"No, you're not. We're going in to see a movie," she said, patting his chest and lifting herself off him, laughing when he wrapped his arm back and dragged her back to kiss at her shoulder. She did not object. "We're supposed to be doing the date thing right now."

He kissed her neck next, but then pulled himself up and ran his hand through his hair. She laughed at the sight. "Yeah, no one will guess that you've been making out in your car now."

"Which was _your_ idea."

"It was _your_ idea! You drove us here deliberately early!"

"I swear I thought it was 8:30, not 9:30."

"Likely story." She giggled when he glared at her and combed through her own hair, hoping it still looked as nice, or at least as passably okay, as it had when she got into his car earlier that night, the waves painstakingly framing her face and run by Wells and Harper for feedback. "Okay, if we want to go see the movie, we should probably head inside."

But neither of them moved, staring ahead with the light of the theater shining back at them. 

He spoke first. "I had a really good time at dinner."

She smiled, inching her hand over to his, feeling ridiculous that she was okay kissing him but found it hard to hold his hand without making it a big deal. "Me too. I knew it'd be good though. I love that place."

"I know, that's why I picked it."

"But it wasn't _just_ because I love that place." Although the place was her favorite Turkish place in town and Bellamy had made it even better by taking her there on their _first date._ "I always have fun with you. You don't need to impress me or anything. Literally just being with you is good for me."

"Same for me, Clarke. Obviously it goes the same for me. But you know, I _want_ to impress you. All the fucking time. It's kind of inconvenient actually." She laughed, making the final leap to lace their fingers together. 

"I know basically everything about you? So it's gonna be hard."

"Coming from the girl who used to wear a tutu to school every day for the first few months of fourth grade?"

"Shut up! That was shared in confidence!"

"And yet I still want to impress that girl? So…"

"Bellamy, please," she squeezed his hand, "I don't need to be impressed. I don't _want_ to be impressed. I like you _so_ much that I'm literally nervous to be around you still, even though you're my best friend. If anything, _I'm_ trying to impress you."

"Why the hell would you want to impress me?"

She gave him a disbelieving look. "Are you serious? Bellamy, seriously?"

"What?"

"You're…" She gestured to his entire body. "Bellamy Blake? You're like… the coolest person we know? The person everyone looks up to at school. You're so good at everything and you take care of everyone and you're just really likable? I don't even know how you do it. Like, I'm sure there's a bunch of people at school who think I'm like. Blackmailing you or something?"

"They're _not_ thinking that. Are you kidding? Stop it, Clarke."

"Okay, okay, not that exactly, but you _are_ good and you’re sweet and caring and hot and make me laugh all the time.”

He was quiet for what felt like a while. When he spoke again, he said, “So I’m hot?”

“Ugh,” she lamented, pushing a hand against his chest. “I hate you.”

“I’m joking. Look! Look,” he tilted her chin up to look at him and she took the opportunity to admire his lovely, pretty, expressive eyes. She loved his eyes. “Bad joke. I didn’t know how to handle you saying all that… all those things about me.”

“You’ve said way nicer things about me.”

“Yeah, well—"

“What?”

“They were… true.”

Her mouth quirked down. “And so is this. I’m not saying this to pad your ego, Bellamy. I mean it, you know I do.”

“Yeah,” he breathed out, caressing her chin with his thumb. “I know. It’s just a me thing.”

“I know that too.” She leaned over to kiss him slowly just because she could. “How about this? We just… keep doing what we're doing. It's working out well, isn’t it?”

He gave it some thought. “Keep dating?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, giddy again. “Obviously.”

“Keep kissing?”

Clarke laughed when she ducked from his mouth. “We’re supposed to watch a movie in…” she looked at her phone, “10 minutes.”

"That's a lot of time."

"Bellamy."

"Fine," he sighed, "I'm really excited to watch this bad movie."

"Maybe you'll really like it. You like a lot of really bad movies."

"Name one bad movie."

"You like all the superhero ones?"

"They're fun, okay? They're fun and it's just—" His phone started to ring. He was the only person she knew that still had a ringtone, except for like, her mother and her friends, which said a lot about him probably. He answered it, which meant that it had to be his mom or Octavia. "Hi mom. What's up? What? She's where?" Clarke tried not to eavesdrop. "I mean, no, I'm—okay, what? Okay, okay, that's fine. I'll be there soon."

"What happened?" She said, clocking the look on his face. Octavia. 

He ran a hand over his face. "Academic bowl meet ran late, stuck at the school, my mom can't pick her up because of work since it ran late, no one else can possibly take her home, I guess, so…"

"Let's go," she said, squeezing his knee and opening the door to get out and back into the passenger seat. 

"Clarke, I'm so sorry—"

"Sorry for what?"

"We're supposed to see that movie and now—"

"Please, neither of us _wanted_ to see that movie."

"We're on a date."

"And now we're picking up your sister. Get up, get moving."

"Clarke—"

"Remember that day last year? When we kinda started being friends finally? We went to pick up Octavia and instead of fighting and yelling at each other like we were _always_ doing back then, we actually talked to each other. I really don't mind it." She leaned back into the backseat for a second and kissed him. "Seriously. I know you're freaking out about Octavia being at the school this late so will you just hurry up and get in the front so we can get going?"

He stared at her until a smile crept onto his face, which turned into a grin. "Fuck. You're the best. You're really the best."

"You can keep saying that if you want."

"I will."

*

**(AS WE DREAM BY THE FIRE.)**

Clarke sneezed right as Bellamy opened the door. "Clarke?" he said, taking a good look at her, bundled up in her big winter coat, heavy scarf, and warm mittens, and sporting what was probably a very red nose. "Is that you? I can't tell from under all that."

"Who else are you expecting?"

"Well, there's the mailwoman…"

"Ha, so funny. Let me in."

"What's the password?"

Bellamy thought he was _so_ cute. 

"I _can_ leave, you know. I can leave and just never come back and you won't get my help on those cookies for Octavia's class."

"You make a compelling point. But how do I know it's really Clarke under there?"

She pulled down her scarf and sneezed again. "Are you going to let your girlfriend freeze to death?"

"Well, I guess I would miss you." He grabbed a mittened hand and pulled her inside, leaning in to kiss her.

She held her other hand up to stop him. "I have a cold. You can't kiss me."

"I've got a strong immune system."

"That's really not how this works."

"I won't be able to see you for two weeks, Clarke," he said, taking her coat from her. "Two weeks."

"I don't want to go see my mom's family either! The less time I spend with them, the better my mood is."

"They're the ones that have that yacht?"

She made a face at him. "It's not a yacht. It's just… a boat."

"God," he groaned, leading her into the kitchen where he had already prepared all the ingredients for the cookies. "It's just a boat."

Clarke dropped her head against his back, arms going around his front to hug him. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking."

His hands came up to clasp over hers and she heard the amusement in his voice. "It's fine, Clarke. Are you going to let go?"

"Nope," she turned her face and pressed her other cheek into his sweater. "I kinda like it here."

"I haven't washed this sweater in a week."

Liar. She could smell the fresh detergent smell that she loved on him. "I'll risk it."

"What if I wanted to see your face?"

"Too late. I'm attached like this now."

"Damn."

She snorted and hugged him tighter, breathed him in. It was only going to be two weeks, but two weeks was a long time and they'd just started dating. Who knew what could happen in that time? Shut up, Clarke, she admonished. Don't think about that. "Maybe I can convince my mom to let me stay here."

"How are you going to do that?"

"I could pretend to be really sick."

"I don't think she'd believe that."

"She _could._ She'll never say this but she hates spending Christmas there."

"What with the sun and the water and the _yacht…"_

"Boat."

"It's just a really hard time to be there, isn't it?"

She closed her eyes and sighed. "It won't have you." She couldn't see him turn his head, but she could feel his movement. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you too. I… it kinda sucks. Not that you'll be with your family or anything, obviously—just. You know."

"I know. Me too." They didn't need to say anything else, didn't say anything else, just stood there like that for a few minutes, which was exactly how Bellamy's mom and Octavia found them, the latter interrupting them with a loud cough.

“In the _kitchen,_ Bell?” Octavia said, mock offended, or at least, hopefully mock offended.

She sprang apart with a heavy blush, "Hi Mrs. Blake, Octavia," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise—I mean—Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Clarke. Thanks for coming over to help out."

Both mother and sister sported smiles, though his sister's was much more teasing and mischievous. "Should we leave you two alone? Mom, should we leave them alone?"

"Octavia, how many cookies did you promise the class again?" Aurora Blake said, giving her daughter a tired, admonishing look. "Should we get started on those?"

Octavia grumbled but dutifully went to where the flour was sitting on the counter. Within a few moments, everyone else was starting on the recipe, except for Clarke, who was standing there, just watching. She liked watching them. They were much more of a family than Clarke's was, even though Bellamy's mom was barely around because she had to work so much and Bellamy was more father than brother to Octavia most of the time. They were close. They talked to each other. They liked each other. She was going to spend two weeks, Christmas included, with her mother's family that both of them disliked and she would have to pretend she didn't. 

"Clarke?" Bellamy's soft voice broke through her thoughts. He wore a look of concern that she wanted to erase with her fingers. "What's up?"

"It's nice that you're all doing this," she answered, enough of an answer that it should settle it, but then again, Bellamy knew her well enough to not settle for it. He also knew her better than to press her right now, in front of his family, but he understood nevertheless. 

"Hey," he teased, wiping a flour-stained finger across her cheek, "you said you'd help. I don't see you helping."

"I'm supervising?"

"Nice try. Help me with the dough." She made a face at him and he laughed before taking a peek at his mom and sister, both of whom were busy discussing something else, their backs to them. Bellamy took this opportunity to sneak in a kiss, sealing a noise of surprise from discovery. She blushed once more and rolled her eyes, joining him at the kitchen counter. 

This wasn't Christmas, but she'd pretend it was.

*

**(I WANT YOUR MIDNIGHTS.)**

Of all the things she could do after returning from her mom's family in Rhode Island, where she'd almost _drowned,_ thank you very much (long story), going to Murphy's annual New Year's Eve party was far, far, far down on the list. Quite honestly, it didn't even make the list.

Bellamy knew that the last thing she wanted to do tonight was to go to Murphy's party because she told him no less than five, possibly six, she'd stopped counting by then, times that she didn't want to go to Murphy's party. Bellamy knew that and still convinced her to go anyways.

 _I want to see you,_ he wheedled over the phone. _We haven't actually gotten to see each other since you got back._

She countered with a very reasonable, _We can just hang out here tonight, can't we? Why do we have to go to Murphy's?_ Especially because Murphy's was _not_ here. 

_I already told Murphy I'd go, I can't just back out._

_You can? Just tell him you changed your mind. Or that your evil girlfriend is making you. I don't mind being the villain in this story._

_Come on. Just for a bit? It'll be fun._

It was Murphy's party. It was going to be weed and alcohol and God knew what other substances. She wasn't judging, but it wasn't like it was going to be the party of the century. _I don't really want to go to a party tonight, Bellamy. I just want to see you and like… go to sleep. Can't we just catch up on some sleep here?_

_You can sleep on me at the party if you want._

_Oh shut up._

_So, the thing is… I'm kinda already here and it'd be really cool if you came too. I really_ do _want to see you. I miss you, Princess._

She should've held her ground, but she caved so easily. She was a bad, bad feminist. _Okay, you win. I'll be there in an hour._

An hour later, she arrived at the party, walking right through the first waft of smoke that made her roll her eyes. There was an ungodly number of people at the party and it was a little suffocating, especially the longer she went without finding anyone she actually wanted to hang out with. Finn even spotted her at one point and she had to duck behind one of the tall basketball players until he lost sight of her. Another reason why she hated these parties. Why hadn't he given up at this point? They never talked, she avoided him whenever she saw him (case in point), and she was very clearly happy with Bellamy now. Fate took pity on her when she ran right into Monty and her relief at finding someone she actually liked made her throw her arms around him in elation. 

"Uh, welcome back?" He said, patting her on the back. "But I kind of can't breathe."

"Oops, sorry." She brushed imaginary dust off his shoulders. "I'm just so glad to see you. Also why are you here?"

"I got bored. Harper's still visiting her family so Jasper dragged me along and then ditched me because he just wanted to see Maya."

"You should put some itching powder in his socks."

He laughed. "I'll take that under advisement. Why are _you_ here?"

She rolled her eyes. "Bellamy begged me to show up, but guess what, I can't even find him." Clarke looked around again, but could not spot any familiar faces, heads, or other body parts that would belong to Bellamy Blake. These parties sucked.

"I saw him earlier… maybe with Miller? I'm pretty sure he's around."

"Do you mind if I ditch you to look for him?"

Monty didn't mind. He was very nice that way. "I have to make sure Jasper didn't drown in the keg trying to impress Maya or something. That sounds like something he'd do."

"He's so hopeless, it's kind of cute."

"Well, we need Maya to think that, don't we?"

"I try to talk him up all the time, but then he does things like try to drown in kegs to impress her and, well…"

"Or volunteer to help her with history homework even though he's pulling a D average."

"Yep." They both laughed before Monty waved her off and she was left to go search for her missing boyfriend. Said missing boyfriend showed up forty minutes later after she’d long given up and decided instead to sit on a couch she wasn't entirely positive was sanitized, scrolling on her phone. She figured if he wanted to find her, he'd find her.

It wasn't so much that he found her either and more that he stumbled across her. She felt a tap on top of her shoulder and she tilted her head backwards, in the direction of the tap, and looked into the upside down face of Bellamy, who immediately ducked down to kiss her, adding enough tongue that she nearly forgot that she was kind of mad at him.

“You made it,” he said, after.

She tried very hard not to smile. “Technically speaking.”

“What are you doing all the way over here?” He moved to sit on the arm of the couch, leaning into her and pressing a kiss on her hair. She pretended to keep scrolling through her phone before she answered. She _was_ still mad at him. She was mad at him for making her come here and not even try to find her until now.

"I like this couch," she answered eventually, looking at him. "And I couldn't find you earlier."

"I was with Murphy," he inclined his head, apparently pointing to Murphy somewhere off in who knew where. "He was doing this stupid thing where—never mind, you had to be there. You should've let me know you got here. When did you get here?"

"I texted you earlier," she said, a spike of irritation poking at her. 

"No you didn't," he said, as if she would lie about this. Why would she? What would be the actual purpose of that? Fishing out his phone, he looked through it for a few seconds and then looked sheepishly at her. "I didn't see it."

"Yeah. I figured."

"Sorry," he said, kissing the top of her head again, "I should've checked. I lost track of time with Murphy."

"It's fine." It was not fine. Clarke was annoyed at him for inviting her over, for basically forcing her to come to the party, and then forgetting about her. Clarke was annoyed at herself for being annoyed about it, when she knew it was just a mistake. Clarke was annoyed that she was lying to him. She watched a couple make out in the corner and was annoyed about that too. Next to her, Bellamy started talking to someone who'd come up to him and she was only half paying attention to what they were talking about when she nudged at his leg, drawing his attention to her. "I'm going to go home," she said. 

"What?" Thinking that he hadn't heard her, she repeated herself. He had heard her. "You just got here and now you're leaving?"

"I didn't just get here," she corrected him. "I got here nearly an hour ago and I'm bored now."

"You've just been sitting here the whole time, that's why."

"I told you. I like this couch."

"You know," he said, frowning at her. Bellamy was not stupid and he was not blind and he was not deaf so he raised his eyebrow at her. "You didn't have to come."

"You _asked_ me to come, Bellamy."

“Yeah, and you could’ve said no.”

“I _did_ say no. You kept asking. Why did you even ask?”

"Because I wanted to see you." She didn't like his tone.

"And then you just spent all your time with Murphy."

"I didn't know you were here," he stressed, voice taking on a bit of an edge that he quickly tempered into his soothing tone. He wanted to soothe her. "I'm sorry I didn't see the message. I'm sorry I didn't find you until now."

"I said it's fine."

"Well, you clearly didn't mean it."

"Are you calling me a liar?"

She didn't know what she was saying. She just felt that spike of irritation get bigger and bigger, rolling into each other, taking over her.

Apparently it was the same with him. "Are you seriously blaming me for you not even _trying_ to have fun here?"

"I'm not blaming you for anything, Bellamy," she said primly, standing up and brushing off her skirt. She'd worn her favorite yellow skirt to come see him at this _stupid_ party. She'd put on _makeup_ for him when she could've just stayed home and watched _When Harry Met Sally._ "It's my fault for coming when I didn't even want to come. I should've just stuck with my no. But I guess I thought maybe my boyfriend wanted to see me too!"

"I _did,_ I mean, I _do_ want to see you," he said, grabbing her hand before she could walk away. "Please don't go home."

She was gentle in removing her hand from his grasp. "Let's just talk tomorrow. I told you, I'm really tired and I'd rather be home right now."

He was staring at her hand with something like offense in his eyes. "Seriously?"

"No, Bellamy, I'm just saying this for fun."

"I haven't seen you in two weeks, Clarke."

She scoffed at him. "You're spending more time with other people at this party than you are with me! So pardon me for not taking much stock in that sentence."

"Am I supposed to just _ditch_ them when I see you? They're my friends too!"

"I'm not saying they're not and you _know_ I wasn't expecting you to do that!"

"Actually, it sounds _exactly_ like you were expecting me to do that!"

"How? _Where?_ All I did was _point out a fact!_ And it is a fact! You didn't even try to look for me!"

"I _did!"_ He shouted. "Look, if you think I'll just do that everytime you're around like I'm you when you were with Lexa—"

Clarke stepped back a little, stunned. "What the fuck."

His eyes widened in shock that he had just said that. She agreed. "I didn't mean that—"

"Fuck off, Bellamy."

"I didn't mean that, I was just mad, I wasn't…"

Clarke was well aware that, if this party hadn't been so packed with people who are either drunk or high, they would be making a scene right now. They were. People probably found it funny if they were fully cognizant of what was happening. "I'm going home."

"Clarke, please, please stay, I'm sorry—"

"I can't believe I actually _missed_ you."

He reached forward again but she stepped neatly out of his grasp.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow," she said tightly, though she had absolutely _no_ intentions of doing so, and then left only to return a second later just so she could push him off the arm and witness him falling over sideways onto the couch. "Oops!" It was not very mature, but neither was this fight that had blossomed out of nothing and taken on a life of its own. It didn't even make her feel better, which was the worst part of it. If she was going to fight with Bellamy, she'd rather it be one where she had the upper hand.

She didn't spare him another look before she really left this time, weaving through the crush of people and waving a distracted goodbye to Monty and Jasper when she spotted them in her rush to get away. She made it all the way across the street before she remembered that her car was parked the next block over and she suddenly felt no desire to actually go and find it, let alone drive it home. She was so tired and mad and… guilty. 

He'd fucked up by saying what he had said about Lexa, but she'd started the whole fight, picking at him and being annoyed with him until they couldn't take it anymore. She had been unreasonable and shitty and ridiculous. And she owed him an apology.

There was no way around it, not even if she glared at the ground or if she tried to come up with ten rationalizations for it. She'd just been so spectacularly shitty that she wouldn't even blame Bellamy if he broke up with her then and there. She'd probably drive home later with a broken heart. It was fine. She deserved it!

Steeling herself, Clarke crossed the street again, heading back towards the house, telling herself that she could do it. She could apologize and she would be understanding when he broke up with her. It would suck that they hadn't actually made it two months, but it was her own fault for doing this. She was never good at relationships. So lost in thought, she ran smack dab into a familiar chest—Bellamy's, of course—on the way in.

She rubbed her nose, looked up. 

He spoke first, a guarded, "Are you coming back? I thought you were leaving."

"I'm not leaving yet," she said, quiet. "Were… were you leaving?"

"Kinda. Yeah."

"Oh."

Someone rustled past them, shoving her into him again, and she heard Bellamy shout something in warning at them. She took the chance to curl closer into his warmth because if he was going to break up with her, she might never have this again. His arm went around her back and held her there. She'd missed this. She'd spent two weeks in godforsaken _Rhode Island_ and the only contact with Bellamy she'd had was on Facetime and texts and phone calls. They weren’t cut off but it just wasn't the same. 

"I'm sorry," she blurted out, coincidentally at the same time as he did, the same words too. She blinked up at him. _"You're_ sorry? I'm the only one who should be sorry. I don't even know why I snapped at you like that. I was just… annoyed and pissed and tired and… mean. I was mean."

"No, come on, Clarke." He tugged her away from another exiting group of people trying to get through the hall and eventually huffed, leading her through the house, until they were shut inside a room. It was quieter and more spacious here, even if it was dark. She pulled the switch for a lamp and it lit up. "That dig about Lexa, god, I know you didn't mean that. I was just pissed and I wasn't thinking and I really, honestly didn't mean it."

"That hurt a lot. You know I didn't like the person I was then."

"I know. I'm so sorry."

"I know you are," she said, because she knew that he was. She'd known it earlier too, when he first apologized. 

"And then I didn't ask if you actually wanted to come to the party, I just made you come along."

"I said I'd go."

"After you said you didn’t want to and I kept pushing, And then I didn't even make an effort to ask where you were or look for you. I know you didn't mean I had to ditch everyone, but I wasn't fucking fair to you when I was the one who wanted you to come to the party."

"I should've talked to you about it instead of just shouting at you."

"Like I didn't shout at you?"

"Well, I shouted first."

"I shouted back. And for worse reasons! And I ignored you!"

"You did, but—"

"No, c'mon, Clarke. Don't do that. I fucked up. I was being shitty tonight."

"That doesn't mean I wasn't _also_ being shitty."

"But I was—"

"It's—just let me apologize, Bellamy!"

"You don't have anything to apologize for! Let _me_ apologize!"

"I've got yelling to apologize for! And I pushed you down!"

"I was being a shitty boyfriend all night!"

"I was a shittier girlfriend!"

"That's not even—" She paused, then looked at him again. "Why do we always do this?"

He blinked, then laughed. It was a loud laugh, a full laugh, head thrown back laugh. She felt warm just listening to it. "I don't know. It always turns out like this?"

"It's because you're so stubborn."

"You're _still_ on thin ice here, pal."

"I'm trying to make it up to you."

She giggled and it felt good to do that. She didn't forgive him everything, but talking through this had made it better. Being in his presence made it better. "You know… I really don't want to fight tonight. Can you just accept my apology?"

"No, not unless you accept mine."

"I could be persuaded to."

"How so?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned up, meeting his lips easily as he ducked down. It was a perfect kiss, almost as good as that _real,_ first one, the one that was technically their third but that she counted as their first. He was gentle and unsure at first, but she tightened her hold around his neck and kissed him back, letting him know it was okay, that she wanted him to really, properly kiss her, to kiss her for all the nights he hadn't been able to, and so he did, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer, the tips of his fingers pressed into the small of her back, leaving indentations that sent shivers up her spine. She grabbed a handful of his hair with one hand when he slid a hand under her sweater, rucking it up from under the waistband of her skirt and his warm hand skimmed across her hip, sliding carefully up along her side. She wanted even closer. 

She was happy. “I thought you might break up with me,” she admitted, embarrassed by the reveal. Bellamy stopped laying kisses along her throat and peered at her.

“What?”

“I don’t know. I was freaking out.”

“It was just a fight.”

“I’m not good at fights in relationships.”

“I’m not… I’m not like them.”

“I know.” She kissed him again, making him believe it. “You’re better.” He returned the kiss for a long moment and then moved his ministrations to other appealing places.

He said something. She had to ask him to repeat it. "You're beautiful," he murmured, kissing down her neck as she arched towards him. "I missed you. I fucking missed you."

"How much?" she gasped, feeling weak at the knees all of a sudden, glad that she was holding onto Bellamy. He spun her around and let her lean back against the wall and she was even more thankful for that. 

"You know how much," he said roughly and she let out an involuntary whimper at that, her hips pushing forward, and Clarke started to smile, because he was hard against her leg and she'd _done_ that. He noticed. "Don't laugh."

"I'm not. I'm happy. Kiss me again." 

He did, his hand flirting upwards until his fingers were skimming the underside of her breasts and she was arching towards him, aching for more contact. 

“You can touch me,” she breathed, her hands already going to the buttons of his shirt, fumbling with them in her haste and eagerness to get her own hands on him. She got the top two buttons off and pulled back from him. “Seriously?”

He had a white shirt underneath and it was currently her enemy. “I didn’t know I would be in this situation!”

She made quick work of the outer shirt, leaving him in just the thin white shirt. He was prettier close up, with her hands on him. Before she could contemplate further, Bellamy pulled her towards the bed and into his lap. She sat with her knees anchored on either side of his waist and smoothed his hair back, kissing him slowly and deeply until he flipped her onto her bed, looming over her as she fell back to the mattress with her hair splashed behind her. 

Clarke looked right and left. “Please tell me this isn’t Murphy’s room.”

He shook his head. “It’s his sister’s. She’s never here.”

“He has a _sister?_ We’re in her _bed?”_

“I feel like the moment’s getting away from us,” he complained into her mouth, seconds from kissing her. 

She smiled against his lips. “I’m not having sex in Murphy’s sister’s bed.” 

“What about making out in Murphy's sister’s bed?”

“Well, I guess I have no problems with that.”

Bellamy was very obliging; she loved that about him.

Outside, she heard the faint sounds of cheering and she realized. New Year's. It was a new year.

*

**(INTO THE WILD.)**

"Are you just hiding in there?"

"No!" She dug through a box she'd pulled out of the closet and dissatisfied with not being able to find what she wanted, huffed in annoyance. "I swear it's here somewhere."

"You've been searching for ten minutes," he said. His voice sounded much closer than it was and she looked up. Bellamy was leaning against her doorway now, amusement on his face. "I don't really need those flashcards."

"So you think!" Clarke said, popping up to move to her desk, pulling open the drawer and rummaging through it. She should've cleaned this up. "These flashcards saved me on the vocab and they'll save you too."

"You do remember that I don't actually need to take it tomorrow?"

"But you are."

"Yeah, because the school's willing to pay for it."

"And because you want to beat your old SAT score. Which is, and I just want to point that out again so that you can be embarrassed about it, already amazing!" 

He blushed a little, avoiding bringing attention to it by coming up beside her and peering into the drawer with her. "I'm good on the vocab anyways. You really don't need to find them."

"Shush. Help me find them."

Bellamy sighed, but went along with it. She wanted to kiss him. She always wanted to kiss him though. "Do you remember where you saw them last?"

"I last used them in November so not really, but they have to be around here. They're flashcards. They can't _go_ anywhere. It's not like they can just walk away." 

"Yeah, true." He opened one of the other drawers and looked inside, but that just contained her pens and other supplies, so that wasn't it. "Is this an organized mess thing or is it a too lazy to clean mess thing?"

"Can't it be both?"

"Ha ha." Bellamy had moved to the top of her desk now, idly flipping through the tray in the corner. "I doubt it's this, it's just letters and—"

At his silence, she stopped looking through the drawer and turned to Bellamy. "What?"

He pointed to the stack of envelopes in front of him. "You never said you got accepted to all these schools."

"Oh," she felt a little embarrassed by this and laughed uneasily. "I thought I did."

He gave her a sideways look. "No, you didn't. This is… wow." His eyes flickered over the names of the schools on the envelopes. "Holy shit, Stanford?"

"Waitlist," she said, taking that envelope from him. "We're supposed to be finding the flashcards."

"Why didn't you say anything about this?"

"Bellamy…"

"You got into _Johns Hopkins,_ Clarke." He looked both incredulous and impressed. She felt her skin itch. "You never told me—I mean, anyone." There. There was the hurt.

"Because it's not a big deal."

"It's a big deal." Bellamy leafed through the envelopes, his eyebrow lifting higher and higher while she felt the sudden urge to push him out of her room and hide from him, possibly forever.

"I don't really—"

"You applied to the University of Arkadia?"

She bit her lip and nodded. She knew what he was going to say next, but she hadn't done it for him. She knew Bellamy had finally given in and done so, two days before the deadline, and he'd gotten accepted a few days ago. She was so happy for him, _ridiculously_ happy for him, that she hadn't stopped talking about it all week, much to his false chagrin, but she hadn't applied because of him. She was probably in love with him, but she wouldn't follow a boy to college. 

"Why the hell would you do that?"

She blinked. Not what she had expected. "Because… I wanted to?"

"You _wanted_ to apply to U of A. _Why?"_

"It's a good school, I like the programs it offers, I like the campus, I—"

"It's an _okay_ school. You could be going to Johns Hopkins. To Stanford. You've always said you were going to Harvard. Did you—"

"They don't make the decision for another week."

"Okay, and you're going to get in." He said it with unshaken conviction. "So why the hell would you even bother with Arkadia?"

She didn't like the way he was talking about it. "What's wrong with Arkadia?"

"Nothing, except it's not fucking _Harvard,_ where you belong?"

The back of her neck prickled. "I think that's a little premature. And I don't think there's anything wrong with Arkadia, except that it's too close to my mom, but other than that, it's not a bad school. I've _told_ you that before."

"I don't think it's a bad school."

"You're talking like it is."

"It's just… not a school for people like you, Clarke. It's fine for me, but—"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" She stepped towards him, taking his hand and squeezing it. "You're not going to some terrible school. I don't want you to think that!"

"I'm _not._ You aren't listening." He ran his fingers over her knuckles. "These big schools are nationally recognized. You deserve that. You're going to be great there. Whichever one you choose. That's all I mean."

"You would too," she argued. "If you applied there—"

"Yeah, but I'm not applying there. I don't—"

"Do not say belong."

"I don't… _want_ to."

She sniffed. "I don't see the point anyways. If I get accepted to Harvard, I'll probably choose Harvard." It made her stomach sit all funny to talk about it because recently, it always made her stomach sit all funny whenever she talked about the future, about graduation, about what would happen Next. Her mom was very interested in what happened Next. "But they probably won't accept me so I'm keeping my options open. Arkadia is a good option!"

"They'll accept you."

"I don't really want to think about it, Bellamy," she removed her hand from his and started pacing across her room, stopping to sit down on her bed and then fall back, her hair splayed under her, her arm resting over her eyes. "Thinking about college makes me want to hide in an unmarked box and just never leave it. Thinking about _September_ makes me want to do that. And I hate that you're framing this whole thing like you're not good enough. You obviously are."

She heard him start walking and then felt the dip of the bed as he sat down, letting her hold his hand again when she stretched out for it. "I never really thought about college," he said eventually, voice quiet. This wasn't new information, but she listened anyway. "I'm kind of excited about it, though. It's going to be… different. And new. But I'm not deluding myself into thinking that it's a better school than Harvard or any of the other places you got into and you and I both know it."

"I don't."

"It's not going to hurt my feelings, Clarke." He joined her in laying down, his other hand going to brush hair away from her face. 

"I don't think like that. And it really does make me sad that you do."

"I'm being realistic."

"Well, don't."

He snorted. "Okay, I'll see what I can do about that." He grew somber again. "Why didn't you tell me that you got into all these schools?"

She chewed on her answer, letting it sour on her tongue. "Talking about it makes it real," she finally said, looking down, at his chest, at his shoulder, at anywhere but him. "I'm scared of everything changing. I like it here, now, so much. I don't _want_ things to change."

He laughed, low in his throat. It wasn't to mock her, she understood that. "Were you just going to pretend you didn't get accepted anywhere?"

"I was hoping I'd get used to it in about a month or so. Or my mom would find out and make me."

"She'll throw a big party for you."

"And I have to wear that ugly yellow dress."

"I happen to like that dress."

"Then I'm only wearing that dress forever now."

"You're evil."

"You love me."

"Yeah," he said, hand stilling over her cheek."I do."

She scooted closer. "Like…"

"Like I love you, Clarke. In love love." _In love love._ She ran over the words in her head. In love love. She loved the sound of it. "Yeah?"

"Obviously, Bellamy," she said, dipping her finger into the divot of his chin. "I love you too. In love love too."

As soon as she said it, she knew there was no uncertainty, no _probably_ in it. She did love him. She loved loved him.

He let out a breath. Funny. Like she wouldn't reciprocate. "That's good. Because I had kinda hoped you did."

"Were you doubting?"

"You know me. I'm never sure about anything."

She closed the distance between them, lips closing over his. "Except me. You can be sure about me."

*

**(FUTURE NOSTALGIA.)**

_Harvard College_

_Office of Admissions and Financial Aid_

_Byerly Hall_

_8 Garden Street_

_Cambridge, Massachusetts 02139_

_Dear Ms. Griffin,_

_I am delighted to inform you that the Committee on Admissions has admitted you to the Class of 2024..._

*

**(MOTHER KNOWS BEST.)**

For the entirety of their now-five month relationship, Clarke had made sure to keep Abby away from it. She wasn't ashamed of Bellamy or anything and she wasn't afraid of her knowing (if she asked, she would’ve told her), but she knew that as soon as Abby Griffin got her hands on her relationship, it was going to be a disaster.

All she needed to ascertain that prediction was Abby’s existing dislike-slash-disapproval of Bellamy. She could only imagine how much she hated that her daughter was _dating_ him.

Clarke was very careful in making sure any interaction did not come to pass. Mostly, she spent a lot of her time over at the Blakes, going out with Bellamy, or bringing him over to her house only when she knew her mom wasn't home. Her mom was so busy with government stuff that she usually wasn't home until late and by that time, she'd gotten him in and out without any trouble. 

Of course, Abby Griffin decided to choose that Thursday afternoon to take a half day, not tell her daughter, and come home to find her leisurely making out with a boy on the couch. Her daughter didn't even notice her calling her name until the fourth time she said it.

"Mom!" She squeaked, hand clutched at her chest to badly hide the fact that the top four buttons of her shirt were undone. Bellamy was worse for wear, lips swollen, lipstick on his neck, hair a bird's nest. He struggled to sit up.

"Mrs. Griffin," he said hoarsely.

"Clarke," Abby said, ignoring Bellamy entirely. It almost looked like her eye was twitching. "Don't you have a Student Council meeting today?"

Clarke wished the ground would open up and swallow her already. More realistically, she wished she could distract her for long enough so that she could make herself look like she hadn't just spent thirty minutes kissing Bellamy. If she could at least button up her shirt!

"We rescheduled it," she heard herself say. "Honor couldn't make it today."

"I see," her mom said, clipped. She set her purse down and dropped her keys in the little dish by the door.

"What are you doing home so early?" Clarke asked, fingers quickly fixing her shirt in the brief lapse of time setting the purse and keys down had taken. "I thought you had a meeting with the Chamber of Commerce." She was very adept in remembering her mother's schedule now. Not that it'd apparently done her any good this time.

"That was also rescheduled," came the answer. Of course it was. Because life hated her. She spared them another look before sweeping into her room, leaving the two of them alone.

Bellamy swore. "Fuck. Your mom's going to kill me."

"Kill _you?"_ She said, keeping her eyes trained on the open door to her mom's bedroom. "She's going to murder me! She just found me making out with a boy in her house! Was your hand up my shirt?"

"And who does she hate? Me!" He ran a hand over his face. "I'll tell her it was my idea."

"Why would you do that?" A beat too late, she added, "She doesn't hate you."

"You can't even sound convincing."

"She just doesn't _know_ you," she stressed, wiping lipstick off his face. He looked so cute like that. "She still thinks of you as the guy who bombarded the office with copies of that petition about increasing the funding for the arts programs."

"Which she still ignored, by the way."

"I know. She sucks. I told you!" She whispered this part, but she still believed it. "I'll go talk to her. _Don't_ leave. I don't want her to drive you away."

"What am I supposed to do?" He looked around. "Just sit here?"

"We _were_ supposed to be working on those essays."

"I'm basically finished though."

"I really hate you."

He smirked. "I know. I'll stay."

Abby's timing was impeccable. She exited the room and addressed Clarke again, though this time, her eyes did pass over Bellamy. That was better than nothing. "Clarke, can I speak to you?" She paused. "Bellamy, would you like something to drink? Feel free to help yourself." Her sense of etiquette would never have let her ignore him for too long.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Griffin." Pause. "Thank you for the offer."

Clarke pulled Abby into the bedroom before this went on any longer. "Before you say anything, yes, Bellamy and I are dating."

Instant look of disapproval. "I see. How long has it been?"

"Almost six months."

"Almost _six months?_ And why am I just finding out about this?" She looked pained for a second. "I've told you no boys while you're home alone."

"Mom, Bellamy's been over a bunch of times—as a friend!" Also as her boyfriend, she added silently. "You've been fine with that before."

"When he wasn't dating my daughter. Or was he?"

"Not back then."

"And today?"

"I didn't know you'd be home."

"This isn't helping your case, Clarke," she said severely, pinching the bridge of her nose and exhaling. "I want you and Bellamy to have dinner with me on Saturday."

"What? Oh, Mom, come on—"

"At seven. Will Biaggi's be okay?"

"Mom."

"Clarke, if you're going to be bringing boys around the house and calling them your boyfriend, then I should get to know your boyfriend."

She groaned, her head dropping back in annoyance. "I know you don't like him. You're going to make things worse."

"I don't hate him."

"Sure."

"Clarke, I'm not asking. We'll have dinner this Saturday and I'll pretend I didn't see what happened earlier."

She felt a wave of embarrassment crash over her. Her _mom_ had caught her making out with her boyfriend. _On the couch._ Ugh. "I'll have to see if Bellamy has time. He works a lot, you know."

"We'll find a time that works."

Her sudden acquiescence and flexibility made Clarke suspicious, but she couldn't exactly _say_ that to her. It wasn't like she was going to ban Clarke from seeing Bellamy or anything, but she'd thought she'd throw more of a fit. But she'd run out of ideas to keep this dinner from happening so she could only bring the idea back to Bellamy.

To his credit, he didn't even ask "Do I have to?"

He looked up from his laptop, where he was proofing his essay. "This Saturday? What time?"

"7." She massaged the back of his neck. "We do _not_ have to go."

"Clarke," he laughed, reaching for her hand and rubbing her knuckles. "Let's just do it. Get it over with? You've already met my mom."

She had, about two months ago. It made her feel guilty then, that she hadn't properly introduced Bellamy, Bellamy-my-boyfriend, to her mom yet. He deserved better than that. "Okay, you're right. Saturday at 7? I hope you like stale breadsticks."

"Who doesn't?" He smiled up at her and she felt such a wave of affection for him that she bent down to hug him, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry I haven't introduced you to her before now."

"That's okay, Clarke," he said, kissing the side of her head, getting mostly hair. "I haven't minded. Honest. I would've been too nervous."

"You won't be nervous Saturday?"

"No, I will be," he chuckled. "But at least it's not her finding us making out on her couch?"

"Good point."

*

**(MEET THE PARENTS.)**

Bellamy wouldn't stop jiggling his leg.

“Please stop jiggling your leg,” she said, placing what she hoped was a calming hand on his knee. 

"I'm not jiggling my leg," he muttered, taking a sip of his water. "I'm going to go to the bathroom—"

"You _just_ went." She kicked at his ankle and tried again to get him to calm down. 

Yes, dinner had been… _spectacularly_ awful and her mother had both peppered him with questions about what he was going to do after high school _and_ flat out told him that they wouldn't last together, not when Clarke was going to go to Harvard while he was staying here (like she hadn't spent time disabusing him of the ridiculous notion), but they weren't there anymore. Clarke had cut the dinner short, pulling Bellamy with her, told him to drive somewhere, anywhere, and ended up at the diner. The fries were cold and Bellamy had been nursing a glass of water for the past ten minutes. "Bellamy, seriously, let's talk about it."

He stilled and turned his attention to the fries, dipping three in ketchup and stuffing them into his mouth. She waited for him to finish. Finally: "Your mom…"

"Sucks."

"Can I say that?"

Clarke laughed, running a hand through his hair to get that furrow between his brow to loosen. "Yes. She sucks. She was out of line. She doesn't know what she's talking about. I hate her. Fuck her."

Bellamy swallowed and looked ahead. "I don't mind what she said."

"Bellamy… you don’t have to…"

"I don't. Like, all that shit? I knew she'd say that to me." He dipped two more fries in ketchup but held them out in front of him. "I kind of had a bingo game in my head prepared."

"You what?" She giggled.

"I got bingo, by the way."

"But you're obviously upset."

"Yeah, I am," he admitted, throwing the fries into his mouth. "The way she spoke about you? That was fucked up. If I can say that."

"'Course you can," she said, twisting her finger around a curl. "What do you mean? She was pretty single-mindedly focused on you. Which I'm _so_ sorry about, by the way."

"You already said that in the car."

"Not enough though."

He turned his head to her, a soft smile gracing his face. "It's enough."

She didn't believe that, but digressed. "What did you mean? The way she talked about me."

Bellamy looked curiously at her for a moment. "She talks like she's proud of you but she only brought things up like your college acceptances and you going into pre-med and whatever because she wanted to make a point—" _of how not right I am for you_ went unsaid, "—like you weren't actually there, sitting right across from her? She's not even bragging about you. She's just making a note of it."

How was it that Bellamy had sat through that dinner while her mother had basically told him he wasn't good enough for her and the thing he was worried about the way she'd spoken to her? It made her appreciative and nauseous, because it was sweet that he was concerned about her but it was always discomfiting that he could clock the dynamic between her and her mom so easily. 

"Yeah, I mean… that's just who she is. That's how she is."

"It's not okay."

"It’s fine. I'm…" she shrugged. "Used to it."

"Clarke."

"If I was upset about every single thing my mom said, I'd always be upset. And I don't want to do that." She tried to play it off with a laugh, but it sounded false to her own ears. There was no way Bellamy didn't see through that.

His face confirmed that. "I'm sorry you have to deal with that, Clarke."

She looked away, embarrassed. "Um, I'm not the one who just had to go through a dinner from hell with my mother. Can we focus on that?"

"I've already forgotten about it."

"And internalized it instead." He gave her a look but she knew she was right. "She's definitely wrong, Bellamy."

"You don't know that."

"You think she's right?"

"I don't know that either."

"I do. She's insecure and she's selfish and she's a bully. She doesn't know us."

"I know she doesn't." He stroked her back absentmindedly, his thumb drawing lopsided circles over her thin jacket. "Don't worry, I'm not going to let your mom dictate my life."

"I never do and it's worked out for me." She laughed when he did and felt both of them relax, just a little. The tension from the dinner had finally dissipated. "I don't know that I'm going to Harvard, you know."

"We _both_ know you are."

"No," she said, pinching his arm and receiving a glare in return. "I haven't decided yet. I've still got my visits to do. But even when I decide… it's not going to affect us. I _want_ us to last. I don't care where we're going to college, I still want us to be together." Clarke only realized by the time she finished this mini spiel that she had sounded rather impassioned throughout and it had made Bellamy grin fondly at her. She could pick out his fond smiles now and she loved each and every one of them. This one was a blend of two: _you're being ridiculous_ and _it's still cute._ "Thoughts?"

"You stole what I wanted to say."

"Convenient," she grumbled, though she was not complaining when he kissed her for the first time that night, lazy and leisurely, taking his time with it. When they broke apart, he said, quietly and very seriously, with a crease between his eyebrows, "We don't have to think about it now. We've got so much time."

She nodded, agreed. They did. It was only early April. They had prom still, which she was embarrassingly excited for ever since Bellamy had asked (without any fanfare, thank God), and AP tests and the honors convocation and the senior trip. Graduation was still nearly two months away. College didn't start for another five. They had so much time.

*

**(SAME TIME NEXT YEAR.)**

They were passing around a bottle of vodka around the room, something Clarke privately and publicly thought was kind of gross. Not kind of. It was just gross. She passed every time it came to her, content with the same bottle of beer she'd had all night.

“Don’t be such a dick,” Murphy goaded, swinging the vodka bottle in front of him.

"I'm not being a dick," she said, taking the bottle and once again, passing it to the next person, who, of course, happened to be Bellamy.

"Don't call her a dick," Bellamy said, taking a swig of the vodka—Clarke grimaced; what a brave man to drink that after Murphy did—and passing it to Jasper. "You dick."

"Ooh, Better Prince Charming here to save the day," Murphy said, rolling his eyes. He was laying back on the couch, having claimed it as soon as they stepped inside Miller's house, and no matter how many had tried, had not budged from the spot.

"Just because no one finds _you_ charming—"

"I'm going to miss this!" Harper said dreamily, leaning into Monty and surveying them. It was quite obvious that she was drunk because her voice only developed that dreamy cast when she was plastered. This interruption threw everyone off and they turned to her in confusion.

Miller asked first. "You're going to miss us arguing with Murphy? I definitely won't."

"Seriously, I can't wait to not have to spend every day with him…"

"And sometimes on the weekends too."

"Hey, fuck you," Murphy groused, though it had not fazed him. In fact, it clearly only fueled him more. "You're lucky I even trudged down here. I passed up a date with Nikki Yenser for this!"

"There's no _fucking_ way that she agreed to go out with you."

"What happened with Emori?" Clarke asked.

"Nothing happened, we're just seeing other people."

"Who broke up with who?"

"She—why does it matter?"

"Guys!" Harper shouted. "I'm _really_ going to miss this."

"You're going to have to be more specific," Monty offered, catching Harper before she fell into his lap. 

"This,” she said, gesturing in a circle, presumably meaning the group. “I’m going to miss this. Just all of us being together.”

Clarke laughed, but not in malice. “We’re still going to see each other again!”

“We’re going off to college!” Harper countered, a frown appearing on her face. “We won’t ever see each other again!”

“We’ll see each other again!” Jasper protested, still wielding the vodka bottle around and practically using it as a mic. “San Diego’s so close to Monty and me!”

“But Miller is staying here! And so is Bellamy!”

Bellamy and Miller high fived. 

“And Clarke will be at Harvard! Harvard!”

Lost in Harper’s laments was her halfhearted, “Hey, I haven’t actually decided yet.” She leaned closer to Bellamy, who accommodated her easily, arm thrown around her shoulders to pull her in. Despite the night of drinking, he hadn’t had that much so he smelled the same as he always did, like his body wash and his laundry detergent, two smells that she loved on him. He chuckled under his breath and accommodated her even more, his hand going to play with the ends of her hair.

Harper was still going on. "Harvard basically exists in another realm! We'll _never_ see her again!"

"Harvard's in Cambridge," Bellamy said, slightly amused. "It's a train ride from here." 

"Not for me!"

"Or us," Jasper added, pointing the bottle at Monty and himself. "Harper's right. We're _never_ going to see each other again."

"Jasper, you're drunk," she said, sighing and putting her beer on the floor next to her. "And you’re wrong. We’ll see each other again! We’ll at least still keep in touch!” 

“Ouch. Quick demotion from seeing to keeping in touch.”

“Shut it, Murphy,” she said, throwing some popcorn at him. “Harper, it’ll be okay.”

She was saying it more for herself, but she still meant it. Whatever happened after high school, she believed it would be okay.

Bellamy saved the day. Maybe Murphy was onto something with the whole _Prince Charming_ thing. “You’re welcome to ditch California to stay here. I mean, I’m sure there’s still room in the dorms.”

“CalTech is our chance to shine, Bellamy,” Jasper said, offended. “I’m going to be a new man out there!”

“Please never say that again.”

“You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first.”

“Really, we’re not,” Miller said. “And be careful with that. These carpets were _just_ cleaned last weekend. Dad’s going to kill me if we ruin them.”

“I’m not going to spill anything!”

“Just in case, give it to Monty.”

“He’s not even drinking!”

“Give it to Harper then!”

“She’s about to fall asleep, that's how drunk she is!”

“Pass it to me!”

Clarke started laughing, burying her face in Bellamy’s shirt. Maybe she was drunker than she thought she was. Bellamy’s fingers were in her hair and she curled even closer.

“You okay?” He said, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

“It’s just nice being here,” she said, once she got over her case of the giggles, and looked up into his face. “I’m glad I got out of the trip with my mom.”

“That makes two of us,” he said, tilting her chin up so he could kiss her. “Imagine leaving me alone with these people?”

“We heard that!”

“You were supposed to!”

Across from them, Harper was looking around with another dreamy smile on her face. She was going to have _such_ a headache tomorrow. It didn’t look like she cared. “We should do this again next year! When we’re all on spring break or something!”

“Does it have to be my house?”

“We _always_ do this. Are you saying this isn’t our go-to hang out?”

“Seriously, is this deal contingent on it being at my house?”

“Miller, no, it doesn’t have to be your house!” Harper said, rolling her eyes. “But like, the general idea! So that we don’t lose this!”

Clarke thought it was a little much and definitely dramatic, but Harper looked so sincerely at all of them, waiting for their answers. She smiled back at her. “I’m in,” she said. “But it has to be at Miller’s house.”

“Fuck off.”

“Ditto,” Bellamy said, smirking and flipping him off in return. “No, for real, I’m in.”

“Me too,” Miller said, a hint of a smile creeping onto his face. “Whatever.”

Jasper echoed them with more enthusiasm and Monty concurred in the middle ground. They all turned to Murphy. 

“We’ll see,” he said. “Someone give me the vodka before it’s all gone.”

They took that as a yes.

*

**(DAY TRIP.)**

Arkadia High’s senior trip was an overnight trip to the Mount Weather campgrounds. Despite the locale, it was a trip everyone looked forward to, even Clarke. She loved camping ever since her dad had taken her with him as a kid on his trips. She regarded herself as an expert camper.

Her perfectly constructed tent in under ten minutes was proof of that. Admiringly, she stood back to observe it while Harper went to bring the supplies back to their tent. It was a more high tech camping trip than she was used to, but with 75 teenagers to manage, that was for the best.

She took a few photos of the tent, wishing she could send it to her dad but ended up sending it to Wells, and straightened out the side, letting her eyes drift over the progress of everyone else around her. Some of them were steps away from being done, some of them had clearly already given up. Some of them were still struggling, like Bellamy and Jasper, the former looking as if he was on the end of his rope here and the latter sensing the danger.

Clarke had to go save him, obviously. That was why she rushed over, placing a hopefully calming hand on Bellamy's bicep. "Hi! What's going on here?"

"Clarke!" Jasper said, obviously relieved. She thought she heard _Thank God_ under his breath. "We're trying to put up our tent but—"

"It's going fine," Bellamy cut in, growling. "Jasper just doesn't know how to follow directions."

"Because your _directions_ aren't helpful! I don't know where east is from here!"

"It's obvious!"

"No, it's not!"

"Okay!" Clarke interjected, literally stepping in between the boys. "Jasper, do you want to go get the other supplies from the bus? I can see if I can help Bellamy with the tent." This was not a suggestion and she added a pointed look to get him to leave. Jasper caught on immediately and left in a rush. 

She turned back to Bellamy, who was very intently focused on the tent pole. "You're putting it on wrong."

He was practically breathing fire. "I can do this by myself."

"They gave us a guide."

"I don't need it." He paused. "I already read it."

"Where is it then?"

He waved a free hand in front of him. "Somewhere. I'm busy."

Clarke went in search for the guide and ended up finding it mixed in with the other tent materials. She picked it up and flipped through it until she got to the step that most resembled what Bellamy was trying to do. "That's really not how it's supposed to go."

"You're distracting me. I don't need help."

It was kind of amusing now. She decided to let him try and stood back, perusing through the book until she heard him start cursing. Then, she walked forward and grabbed the pole out of his hand. "We're here to _help_ each other. Let me help."

He was not happy when he agreed, but he let her take over the reins, pulling the fabric up when she told him to. Eventually, once they were halfway through the setup, he spoke again. "I don't camp a lot. Or ever." He snuck a peek over at her and caught her eye. She rolled her eyes.

"Well, I've camped a lot so it all works out. Except for Jasper, who probably thinks you'll try to strangle him in his sleep tonight."

Bellamy groaned. "I didn't mean to snap at him. I’ll apologize to him. I was just getting frustrated about not getting the tent to work right."

"The tents are hard!"

"You got it done in like two minutes."

Ten, actually, but she was sure he still wouldn't find that very comforting. "I’ve gone camping with my dad every year since I was 7 until he died, Bellamy. I'd be a fraud if I was bad at it."

“I’m sorry for snapping at you too,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Thank you,” she accepted. “I know you hate not being good at things right away.”

“Fucking despise it.”

She laughed with her head thrown back. He looked at her a second too long and then walked over to her, kissing her deeply. There were so many students still around them, as well as a handful of teachers and staff who were chaperoning, and Clarke didn’t even care. (Okay, she cared a little.) Eventually, she had to put a hand on his chest and push him away reluctantly. She wasn’t in the mood to get in trouble for making out in public. Even if it wasn’t exactly school, it was still a _school_ trip. 

“Don’t get us in trouble,” she said, straightening up and taking a step back, pretending to inspect a spot on her jacket sleeve. 

“Coward.”

“Rebel.”

“That’s what they call me.”

“They definitely don’t.”

“Do so.”

“Help me get this other side done, okay?”

He did, and after they finished, they stood back and surveyed their work. “Not bad, Griffin.”

“I should say so,” she said, proud again. “You were reasonably helpful.”

"I strive to be reasonably helpful at all times." Bellamy went to go pick up the four sleeping bags next to them and grabbed her hand to quickly tug her inside the tent. "Oh, the inside's kind of nice too."

"Thanks to the Student Council," she said, bragging just a little. She felt entitled to it. It had been a lot of accounting work to figure out how to get the funds for this. "Are you sure you, Monty, Jasper, and Murphy will be able to be in the same tent all weekend?"

"If _someone_ hadn't assigned us together, it wouldn't be a problem," he pointed out, although he _knew_ she hadn't been in charge of it.

"I wasn't in charge of it. And it could've been a lot worse. But we do have a suggestion box."

He scoffed and started to unfurl a sleeping bag, carefully laying it out beside him. Clarke watched him do this simple, little thing, and was upset that she couldn't delay it any longer. The entire ride down, she'd told herself that she would just come out and say it. She told herself this before they even stepped onto the bus, really, and then when they sat down, Bellamy and Clarke sitting together obviously, him holding her hand as he dozed off (saving her from having to tell him), and then when he woke up and they watched the dumb dodgeball movie on the screens in front of them. She had not managed to say it, for one reason or another, none of which were reasonable or valid. Now that she was literally alone with him, and faced with the truth that she'd _have_ to tell him at some point, she took a deep, silent breath. 

"Bellamy?"

"What's up?" The zipper on the bag was stuck and he tried to force it past, to no avail.

"I…" she took another breath. It honestly was not this bad. It shouldn't have been this hard to just say it. "Have to tell you something."

This piqued his interest and he stopped fiddling with the zipper and looked up at her. "You sound weird."

She felt nauseous. Seriously. Not a big deal. "I, um, I decided. On Harvard. I'll be going to Harvard in September."

Because she had built it up so much, she had imagined a variety of reactions from him, ranging from excitement to disappointment. (It wasn't fair to him that she had imagined he would be disappointed in her. She knew that he wanted the best for her. But that was the thing about brains and running away with things. Not everything was logical.) She should've just stuck with what she knew: that he'd be excited, because he was. His face lit up and he dropped the sleeping bag at his feet and went right to hug her, scooping her up off her feet. She let out a surprised yelp and laugh and heard him say, with pride in his voice, "You're going to be so awesome there. Harvard's not fucking ready for you."

Blushing from the praise, she was just glad he couldn't see her at the moment. "It's not that big of a deal."

"Yes, it is." He set her down and framed her face with his hands, smiling at her. "When did you decide?"

"About two weeks ago. But I just paid the confirmation deposit last night." 

She knew what his next question would be, could even mouth it along with him, "You waited this long to say something?" It was extraordinarily nice of him not to say that he already knew she'd pick Harvard, like everyone else said they knew.

She ran her fingers through the ends of her hair and shrugged, an action that was not as nonchalant as she wanted it to be. "Only because… well, we've both been dancing around the topic for weeks now. And I didn't want to upset what we have right now by talking about what's going to happen later. Because I don't know what's going to happen and you don't know either and talking about Harvard or college or September just brings that to light again. I'd rather not talk about it, but I couldn't _not_ tell you about Harvard, like what was I going to do? Just start packing and then I leave and I'm like, oh yeah btw, I'm going to Harvard, bye, love you?"

"Well, that'd be one way," he remarked, teasing. She smacked his chest. "I'm kidding. I'm glad you didn't go with that way.” He rubbed at his chest, then grinned a half-grin at her. “I guess we should probably finally talk about it, huh.”

“Yeah,” she said, a bit glumly. “I don’t think it should change anything. I’ll love you no matter where I’m at.”

“I _do_ love you no matter where we are.” Rude. He just had to one up her. His amused grin told her he’d done that on purpose. “Harvard isn’t that far from here.”

Seven hours.

She nodded. “And there are buses and trains and we both like driving.”

“It’s not like you’ll never come back for holidays. Unless your mom does something, I guess.”

“I wouldn’t be coming back for her,” she said, matter-of-fact. 

“Jasper?”

“Yeah,” she laughed, “Jasper. So." Clarke picked up his hand and swung it back and forth just to have something to do. "We can do long distance. I know everyone says it's hard and it doesn't always work out and we'll get frustrated a lot and I'll miss you _all_ the time but we're Bellamy and Clarke and we—"

He stopped the swinging of his hand and brought their intertwined fingers up between them, running his thumb over their knuckles, lowering his head to kiss them after. "I love you. I want to keep doing this with you. Everything else, we'll figure out as it comes."

She felt a wave of affection and happiness when she looked at him and pressed her forehead to his, looking into his dark eyes, framed by his beautiful dark lashes, the freckles on his cheeks just under he sightline. Her eyes fluttered shut. "We always do. No matter where we are."

They could barely enjoy the brief moment of peace before someone came poking their head into the tent. Clarke sprang apart, half-expecting a teacher. How embarrassing would it have been if Jaha had caught them? It was Monty, looking apologetic. "Hey, Bellamy, oh… sorry, I didn't know you were too, Clarke."

She waved an embarrassed hand at him in greeting, even though they'd hardly done anything embarrassing. "What's up, Monty?"

"Well," Monty said, shaking his head. "Jasper might've broken his ankle?"

He was met with a simultaneous, _"What?"_

"Not really sure what happened, but he's by the bus and he's moaning about how there's nothing to live for anymore?"

Clarke sighed loudly and pinched the bridge of her nose. "We'll meet you there. Did you tell any of the teachers?"

"Holloway knows."

"Great, so now Jasper will never hear the end of it."

"Unfortunately he was the closest to the bus so…"

"Yeah, I get it," Bellamy said, understanding. "We'll be right there." Monty nodded and left. As soon as they were alone, she looked over at Bellamy with almost a smile on her face. 

"Every time we do something, I feel like we end up being the chaperones."

"And that's why, _next_ time there's a trip, it's just going to be us."

She grinned, linking their fingers together as they walked out of the tent. "I'm up for that."

*

**(TIME OF MY LIFE.)**

There was a knock at her window. One knock, then two, then an annoying three-knock rap of knuckles on her window. It kept repeating too. Clarke took her time in removing her earrings from tonight and then broke, walking over to the window and opening it to find Bellamy grinning like he knew how annoying he'd just been.

"Are you _trying_ to let my mom know you're here?"

"You're making me feel like a dirty little secret here, Princess."

"You _are._ As far as my mom is concerned, we left prom early because I'm really tired and you dropped me off and went home. And I told you that I'd meet you outside in thirty minutes, I didn't tell you to come _here."_

"I got bored at home," he said, pushing the window up so he could step through and onto the window seat. He was carrying a smoothie cup and handed it to her. 

“Thank you,” she said, kissing him quickly. The smoothie was strawberry and so fucking cold and she took three long sips. “I didn’t mean you had to get one right this instant.”

“It was on the way here!”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she said as he sat down, picking up one of the books she’d tossed haphazardly onto the window seat a few days prior. While she took her other earring off and deposited it into her jewelry box, she glanced over at him and lingered.

He had changed at home from his nice, rented tux to something more normal, his well-worn, soft-beyond-belief blue shirt and jeans. She loved this look on him but it _was_ a shame he’d changed because she'd really enjoyed the way he'd loosened his tie earlier in the night. Bellamy looked _really_ nice in a tux. 

She, on the other hand, was still in her dark blue dress, though she’d long since kicked her towering heels off, and her hair was still hairsprayed and curled around her face. She was _dying_ to be in her pajamas, but that would take a lot of effort and unzipping and Bellamy was speaking again.

“Stop checking me out,” he said, not even looking up from the book. “You’re making me feel objectified.”

“We’re dating. Aren’t I allowed to?”

“I’m still a _human being,_ Clarke.”

“A beautiful one. You don’t happen to have your tie with you, do you?”

“What _are_ you planning on doing with it, sweetheart?”

“Ugh. No to sweetheart.”

“Honey bear?”

“Worse. Go back to sweetheart.”

“Answer my question first.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, _sweetheart._ I just liked the way you looked with it on.”

He looked up and cast his own eye on her, gaze trailing hot and heavy on her as she fought not to blush. No matter how long it had been, she would still never completely get used to the way he looked at her.

“I really like that dress,” he said flippantly, as if he hadn’t basically told her he was going to take it off in the next minute. 

She met his eye. “So I should keep it on?”

“Your choice.”

Clarke smirked, turned around, and reached for her back zipper, pulling it down a few inches before she stopped and turned back around. “I’m too tired to have sex right now.”

He laughed, loud enough that she was scared her mom would hear from her room upstairs, but he quieted himself down. “Who says we were going to have sex? I know you want to change into something more comfortable. If you want to change into your penguin pajamas, please go ahead.”

He knew her so well.

"I'm fine," she said stubbornly, ducking out of his way when he came over and laughing when he caught her. In a position much like they were in at prom, she looped her arms around his neck and he placed his hands on her waist. They made a funny looking pair, probably, him with his plain shirt and jeans, her with her ridiculously expensive prom dress, but they were quite alone in her room, the moonlight shining in from the outside, just her lamps on by her bed and her desk. Wordlessly, they started to sway together, using the soft sounds of the music playing off her phone as their guide. "Sorry you didn't win Prom King."

"Oh my God, not this again."

"Do you think it's because I didn't vote for you?"

“You didn’t vote for me?”

“I said nothing.”

"Who'd you vote for?"

"Alton Trembley."

"That dick?"

"It's the dimple. It wins every time."

“I have a dimple.”

“Not like Alton’s.”

“His is clearly drawn on.”

“And what a good artist he is.”

"I hate you."

"At least you're still Homecoming King. Take pride in that."

"I will literally buy you ten smoothies so we never talk about this again."

She giggled and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. The soft-beyond-belief shirt still lived up to its name, just as she knew it would. "I’m not opposed to that. But seriously. I had a really fun night. Best prom ever."

“You made it really fun,” he said, his breath ghosting over her ear. "And you're beautiful tonight. Always, I mean."

"Nice save."

"Ha. Hey Clarke?”

“Yeah?”

“I really love you.”

She beamed at him. “I love you too.”

They swayed a little longer, the faint whispers of the music following their movement. She thought that she would never forget this night. She never _wanted_ to forget this night. One hand had moved upwards, the pads of his fingers ghosting over the bare skin of her upper back, tickling and tracing. His hand eventually rested on the back of her neck, cupping it gently. Clarke felt herself shiver against him. He probably smiled.

"Your hands are cold."

"They're not. _You're_ the one with cold hands."

“I _swear_ it has to be some kind of condition, they’re _always_ so cold.”

“It’s a little unsettling. Are you a secret vampire and about to tell me?”

She rubbed a spot on his neck (a sight to see, still) and pretended to examine it. “Here’ll do, won’t it?”

“If that’s my only choice.”

They caught each other’s eye and started to laugh. A second later, the song ended and moved into the next one, an upbeat number that they ignored because they were kissing now, Bellamy having tilted her face towards his, his fingers bunched in her hair. The kiss was slow but building, mouths sliding over each other in a practiced dance, her fingers anchored in the roots of his hair, pulling on it until he started to slide the zipper of her dress down. The dress managed to stay on, but just barely, kept up only by the way he had her crushed against him.

She drew back from his arms and the dress dropped to the floor, leaving her in nothing but her strapless bra and her underwear. Bellamy made a low noise in the back of his throat and advanced upon her just as she backed up towards her bed, falling over in a heap and laughing when he reached her, his mouth pushing aside her bra strap reverently.

“You’re going to wake up your mom,” he said as he unclasped her bra.

 _“Please_ don’t talk about my mom when you’re taking my bra off.”

“Got it.”

*

**(YET ALL ALONG, I KNEW WE'D BE FINE.)**

In three hours, Clarke would be a high school graduate. 

All the movies made it look so glamorous, but her experience so far was just a lot of waiting around. And waiting around. And waiting around. Jaha was supposed to be bringing the boxes of diploma covers for her to lug to the school (she wasn't sure why _he_ couldn't do this or why they weren't already at the school in the first place), but he was running late. Or maybe he'd forgotten? The call had been very last minute yesterday and she wasn't sure if he'd actually asked her to do it or not. Erring on the side of caution, she was waiting on the front porch for Jaha to come by. She was actually wrinkling her satin dress sitting here, scrolling through her phone, so she hoped he had a good explanation.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of color and stood up, squinting into the sun. It was a car and it was pulling into her driveway—but it wasn't Thelonius Jaha, unless he had suddenly traded in his car for a vehicle that looked identical to Bellamy Blake's.

Bellamy parked, turned off the engine, and rolled down the windows, poking his head out and shading his eyes from the sun with a hand, and shouted, "I thought I was driving us to the school!"

"Jaha hasn't stopped by yet!" She shouted back, but then decided to trek down to the driveway, leaning over the window and pouting. "Do you think he's forgotten he asked me to bring the covers over?"

"I still don't get why he needed to bring the covers over to your house and then have _you_ bring them to the school while _he's_ also going to be there."

"I think he thinks I'm his personal secretary," she shrugged. She tapped at his tie, which was knotted very securely and pristinely at his neck. "You look handsome today."

"So do you," he kissed her. "How long have you been waiting for him?"

"Close to forty five minutes?"

"What the fuck?"

"I know!"

"Can you call him?"

"He's not answering!' She dropped her head onto his shoulder and groaned. "I just want to be able to graduate on time."

“You _will._ I’ll call him. What’s his number?”

Miserably, she got out her phone and went through her recent calls. “It’s 450-38… shit, my mom’s calling.”

“She’s calling from home?” He looked behind her towards the house. 

“No, she’s at the school already. She said that she wanted to get there early to start preparing for her speech but I know she just wants to show her face around and remind everyone who used to be the superintendent,” she answered absently. “Hi mom. What are you talking about? I’m at home? You know, because I’m waiting for Jaha—Thelonius—Principal—" Clarke swatted at Bellamy, who had started laughing, “what? Because I’m taking the diploma covers like he _asked_ me to do—Wait, are you _serious?_ And no one thought to _tell_ me? I knew he forgot! God! Fine, fine, whatever, I’ll be there in ten!” She ended the call, angrily jabbing at the screen and staring at a dirty spot on the hood of the car.

Bellamy lifted an eyebrow. After doubling back to get her abandoned purse off her porch, she got into the passenger seat, furiously clicking the seatbelt on. She was still glaring, but this time at a dirty spot on the windshield. She could feel her heart thudding furiously, her nostrils flaring, her teeth clenching. Had it been _so_ hard to let her know?

“I take it he forgot,” he said dryly, turning to her.

“He forgot! Because guess what! He already had them at the school!”

“Fuck this.”

“I know! I just wasted almost an hour on this? And I didn’t even have to!” Curse her overly helpful nature. She didn’t realize her fists were clenched tight until Bellamy’s hand slipped over them, unfurling them from their grip slowly and patiently. 

“Hey. You’re too tense right now,” he said calmly, gently intertwining their fingers together. This was easy. It was soothing. She calmed down. “Let’s go get graduated?”

Despite wanting to stay mad, she couldn’t help but smile at him. “Okay, let’s.” He held her hand the entire short drive to the high school, one hand on the steering wheel, the other in her lap, and by the time they got inside and went to their lockers to grab their graduation gowns, she had nearly forgotten the entire incident. According to the clock in the hall, they had thirty minutes to make it to the field outside where the ceremony was being held. It was a lot of time, but she had to set up for the opening speeches and then make sure everything and everyone else was where they needed to be. 

But then again, that was thirty minutes from now. She could do that in five, tops, which meant she had plenty of time.

She stopped in the middle of the hall, turning around, her arms stretched out. In his shapeless graduation gown, she supposed she wasn't supposed to find Bellamy as beautiful as he was, but she did because he was. She always did, even back when she first noticed him in Jaha's office that day, sitting (slouching) in the chair. She remembered that she had specifically thought he was just cute then, but he was always beautiful, wasn't he? The cheekbones, the freckles, the nose, the eyes, the hair. She could get lost in it. She often did, but she was allowed to. They loved each other.

Bellamy smiled inquisitively at her. "You're thinking about something."

"Yeah." She twirled around, the big sleeves on her gown catching the breeze, and enjoyed the way Bellamy's eyes followed her. "Remember how we met?"

"I think so."

"You were so rude then."

"Really? You're going to remind me of how much of a dick I was that day?"

"Yes, because it's part of our story." Sappy. It was sappy, but she didn't care, because in two hours, she would be a high school graduate and she'd be leaving Arkadia High behind, where she'd made so many memories and met Bellamy too. "So you remember."

"Of course I remember. It was only two years ago."

"I couldn't stand the sight of you."

"Hey, I didn’t think you were that great either."

"Hm. What do you think about me now?"

"Now…" He caught up to her and stole a kiss before lacing their hands together, his larger one enveloping over her smaller one. Everything fell into place. "I think you're pretty great."

Clarke laughed because he made her laugh, every time, no matter what. She laughed and squeezed his hand. "I think I'm ready to graduate."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all, folks! I wanted to say thank you to everyone who's read this and I hope you've liked it too. I hope you like this last chapter, which almost didn't happen because I was so stuck halfway through the third chapter. Obviously I can't make any promises because it's hard to predict how inspiration will strike or what I'll want to write, but I did go into this fic intending this to be my last fic for this fandom so it's been swell, guys. This show sucks and everything associated with it does too, but I've really liked writing for this ship and I feel like I've grown a lot as a writer over the years. If I write other fics, maybe I'll see you there! If not, I'll just end this with my usual: don't watch the last season, forget this show ever happened, and leave a comment if you can 😃

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at ~bestivals on tumblr & if you like (or didn't like!), please drop a comment 💜
> 
> Also! Bonus points if you know what song the title is from.


End file.
